


Foxeye

by sv_you_know_who_I_am



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Dub-Con Mention, F/M, He just is, Like so much angst, Long Live Landras, Lucien POV, Lucien is Bisexual, Sexual Abuse, Violence, domestic abuse, look i don't make the rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-11-01 07:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sv_you_know_who_I_am/pseuds/sv_you_know_who_I_am
Summary: ACOWAR SPOILERSWith the Spring Court tangled with dangerous enemies and even more dangerous allies, Lucien is walking a narrow line between loyalty and morality. With Feyre back from her torments in the Night Court, Lucien must stay loyal to her and to Tamlin. But this is difficult to do when his mate is being held captive by the most powerful High Lord in Prythian and no one seems concerned about saving her--not even Feyre. When everything falls apart around him, Lucien must choose where his loyalties lie and find where he belongs in this quickly shifting world . . . and not fall apart in the process.Part 1 of ACOWAR, retold from Lucien's perspective.





	1. Seen and Unseen

I had heard, of course, what a mating bond felt like. Over and over again. I’d once longed for it, desired it, as most foolish young fae males did.

Now that I had it? I wished I could rip it out and bury it Under the Mountain.

This . . . this _torment_. No one had warned me about this. No one had warned me that I would hear her screams in my sleep and awaken to aid her, only to find she was a thousand miles away in the hands of my enemies. That sense of helplessness was like dangling over a chasm with nothing more than a fraying rope to bind me to safety. I had smelled her only once, and yet her scent lingered in my consciousness. It was especially noticeable in the crisp, spring-tinged air of dawn, during those few moments I would have to myself before all of me would be called away to other business.

“Lucien.” I glanced up to see prowling stalking toward me, his jaw set and his hands clasped behind his back. I removed my hand from where it had been slowly tracing circles just above my ribs—where I most keenly felt the draw of the bond—and rose from my chair in a fluid motion to follow behind the High Lord. My gold eye fell to his hands behind his back and I saw no sign of claws. Slight tension released in my shoulders.

I didn’t ask where we were going. It was obvious enough that Tamlin was going to fetch Feyre from her studio. It was where she spent most of her time now that she’d come home. I was forbidden from entering without Tamlin, and it was just as well. I doubted I wanted to see what it was Feyre would paint after her time in the Night Court.

Sometimes, on dark and rainy nights, I would look over my shoulder and _swear_ I could see a shadow of wings behind her back. But she would only smile sweetly at me and I would shake it off, reminding myself that it had been Rhysand’s trickery that had been to blame for that night in the forest. Still, I would always return to my room and clean my golden eye as Nuan had instructed me, hoping that the enchantments on it weren’t starting to go faulty.

I drew in a breath as Tamlin knocked on the studio door and Feyre bid us enter.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you might want to get ready for the meeting,” Tamlin said as Feyre put her paintbrush down.

Feyre swallowed, casting her eyes downward. “Is—you talked it over with Ianthe? She’s truly coming?”

It took centuries of court training not to allow my fingers to curl into fists at my sides. Ianthe—it had been _she_ who had put my mate in danger, _she_ who—

I willed myself to stay calm as I said, “Yes. She … had her reasons. She is willing to explain them to you.” _And it had better be a damn good explanation_ , I thought. I hadn’t yet heard it myself, though Tamlin had spoken with her a couple of times. I hadn’t trusted myself to remain composed in her presence in the weeks following my separation from my mate. Tamlin had seemed to understand and hadn’t pressed the issue. But now . . . we couldn’t move forward with our plans and continue to alienate Ianthe. No matter what kind of snake she was.

“I’ll go change,” Feyre said. She and Tamlin exchanged words about her most recent painting, but my eyes fell low, dropping to the skin of her arm. Perhaps I was simply exhausted from pulling extra duty, but something swam there, as though her right arm was paint not yet dried. I blinked and dragged my attention away as Feyre passed us and headed to her room.

“I’m glad to see she’s painting again,” Tamlin said as he watched her depart. “She’s truly back now.”

 _Back_. Back from what, exactly? I would never say it to Tamlin, but it did not escape my notice that Feyre had been unable to so much as look at red paint after we’d returned from Under the Mountain. And here she was, having spent months in the darkness, being tormented in Mother-knew-what ways, and she was suddenly able to paint stunning landscapes? If anything, Feyre should be worse, not better. Yet I could not bring myself to mention it to Tamlin and take away the soft glow in my friend’s eyes.

I met Feyre outside her room after she’d changed to escort her to the meeting. The thoughts about her well-being had nagged me in the minutes I’d waited, and I wondered if I could use the moment alone with her to prod at her, to see if she might be able to account for the inconsistencies in her behavior. “I’m surprised you’re so calm, given your promises in Hybern,” I said when she came out, looking like a freshly-picked flower from the garden. So different from the woman clad in Illyrian armor cursing at the King of Hybern. Not to mention what she’d said about Ianthe.

I wanted her to be angry. I was _livid_ , and Feyre had more reason to be so than I did. Elain and Nesta were her sisters, and despite this mate bond I hadn’t asked for, I knew that my claim, my investment in her sisters, was nothing compared to what she must have.

“You yourself said Ianthe had her reasons. Furious as I might be, I can hear her out.”

It wasn’t what I was looking for. “She’s going to spin a story that you’ll want to hear,” I warned.

 Feyre just shrugged before making her way down the hall.“I can decide for myself. Though it sounds like you’ve already chosen not to believe her.”

 I caught up with her. Subtlety wasn’t working, evidently. “She dragged two innocent women into this.”

 “She was working to ensure Hybern’s alliance held strong.”

No. _No._ This was not the Feyre I knew. This wasn’t the Feyre who’d gone Under the Mountain to save her love, who’d undergone trial and humiliation just to have a chance at happiness with Tamlin. That Feyre didn’t give up; she didn’t trust that easily, and she would _never_ be so gracious to anyone who had hurt her sisters. I remembered those days when she’d first arrived her, when she’d fought tooth and nail to get back to them so that she could provide for them. This Feyre had nothing in common with that huntress. Had Rhysand messed with her head that badly?

I made her pause by grabbing her elbow. She acquiesced—to another thing she would hardly have tolerated before.

The question flew out of me before I could think it over. “Where is he keeping her?”

There was only one explanation for why Feyre was so calm, why she hadn’t pushed and pressed for Tamlin to storm the Night Court to retrieve her sisters. And that was if she thought they were safe. And whether or not she would admit to remembering or knowing anything, I had to cling to that—to the hope that my mate was not in such danger as I feared at every moment. And to the hope that maybe Feyre knew where she was.

 Feyre shook her head, the streaks of sunlight from the nearby window illuminating her hair. “I don’t know. Rhysand has a hundred places where they could be, but I doubt he’d use any of them to hide Elain, knowing that I’m aware of them.”

 “Tell me anyway. List all of them.”

 “You’ll die the moment you set foot in his territory.”

 “I survived well enough when I found you.”

 “You couldn’t see that he had me in thrall. You let him take me back.”

My lips pulled back over my teeth, but I managed not to snarl at her. How _dare_ she blame me? She knew how powerful Rhysand was. She knew that I and a few lone sentries wouldn’t be enough to take him. And I’d taken what I’d seen straight back to Tamlin in the hopes that he would finally do something himself instead of sending me to nearly every other court to ask for intercession. I’d done what I could, and I had nothing to be sorry for. I released her arm. “I need to find her.”

 “You don’t even know Elain. The mating bond is just a physical reaction overriding your good sense.”

I kept my sardonic laugh to myself. It certainly was doing that. But how could she fault for not helping her in the forest that day and in the next breath tell me I was wrong for wanting to help Elain? She was pretending too hard about something, but I didn’t dare try to untangle the mess of it all when it could so easily send her back to the place she was when we’d first returned home from Under the Mountain. But still, I couldn’t help myself. “Is that what it did to you and Rhys?”

Her blue-grey eyes went wide; her lip trembled. “I don’t want to talk about that,” she said. The clock struck overhead. “We’ll be late.”

As she hurried off down the hall, I cursed my too-quick tongue.

 

Perhaps the thing I hated most about Prythian—if one was allowed to say they hated their own world—was that beauty meant nothing. Some of the vilest things to ever walk this earth had been some of the most beautiful. And Ianthe was no exception.

“I wish to begin by saying how truly sorry I am,” she began, her bell-like voice echoing like chimes off the antique décor. “I acted out of a desire to … to grant what I believed you perhaps yearned for but did not dare voice, while also keeping our allies in Hybern satisfied with our allegiance.”

 I glanced at Feyre. She was hardly the sort of person to not ask for what she wanted. Again and again and again.

“Why would I ever wish for my sisters to endure that?” she asked. I fixed my gaze on Ianthe again.

 Ianthe looked up, her whole attention focused on Feyre. “So you could be with them forever. And if Lucien had discovered that Elain was his mate beforehand, it would have been … devastating to realize he’d only have a few decades.”

 Hearing my mate’s name on her lips was like a punch to the gut. How dare she use my mate bond as a weapon in whatever game she was playing? I was not surprised, not one bit, but it made me want to pin her to the heart with the poker. “If you expect our gratitude, you’ll be waiting a while, Ianthe.”

“No. No, I don’t expect gratitude in the least. Or forgiveness. But understanding … This is my home, too.” I tried not to shake my head. This was _our_ home—not hers. Not when she’d run away to Vallahan the second Amarantha’s threat became real and abandoned us all here for fifty years. The Spring Court was not her home. It was simply the perch with the best vantage point for the time being.

“We have all had to make alliances we didn’t believe we’d ever forge—perhaps unsavory ones, yes, but …” Ianthe continued, her tone pleading, “Hybern’s force is too great to stop. It now can only be weathered like any other storm. We have worked so hard to prepare ourselves for Hybern’s inevitable arrival—all these months. I made a grave mistake, and I will always regret any pain I caused, but let us continue this good work together. Let us find a way to ensure our lands and people survive.”

 “At the cost of how many others?” I snapped, thinking not only of how Elain and Nesta had been dragged into this, but also what I knew of Hybern and his methods. This was not going to be pretty for us, and I’d said so from the beginning. Tamlin, however, seemed willing to compromise anything to bring Feyre back. Even now, he was glaring at me for speaking my mind. But someone needed to say something.

 “What I saw in Hybern,” I said, “Any promises he made of peace and immunity …” I paused as the image of my mate’s nearly-naked body spilling from the Cauldron flashed before my eyes; as other images of Feyre screaming and the shadowsinger bleeding out on the floor and that other Illyrian with his wings shredded . . . no matter my feelings about the Night Court, what I’d seen there was not the behavior of someone who was interested in peace. Not with the Night Court, and likely not with us. But . . . Ianthe couldn’t know about my concerns, not now. It would open up a potential weakness in this careful arrangement Tamlin and I were negotiating. “We have to be careful.”

“We will be,” Tamlin said, his warning glare leaving my profile at last. “But we’ve already agreed to certain conditions. Sacrifices. If we break apart now … even with Hybern as our ally, we have to present a solid front. Together.”

I drew in a breath and nodded. Unified. A solid front. It was the only thing that would keep us from breaking under the pressure. No matter my concerns, my personal investment . . . there was more at stake than that.

I was prepared to swallow it, to move on, when Ianthe said, “I will endeavor to be worthy of my friends.” And I swore I could choke on the saccharine air about her, like it was trying to force its way down my throat. I managed to keep a straight face, but I noticed Feyre’s eyes on me. She knew what this was costing me.

“We’ll all try,” Tamlin said.

Feyre looked back to Ianthe and said, “Never do anything like that again.”

The words were so . . . insubstantial. Meaningless. So easy for Ianthe to ignore. As I knew she would. I leaned back, knowing that if I said another word, I would severely regret it.

“Lucien is right, though,” Feyre said, and I worked to keep the shock from my face. “What of the people in this court during this conflict? They were brutalized by Amarantha—I’m not sure how well they will endure living beside Hybern. They have suffered enough.” I flashed back to the days after we’d all gotten home, when she’d insisted on trying to help the villagers. I remembered the Tithe. This . . . this seemed more like Feyre.

 Out of habit, my eyes fell to Tamlin’s knuckles as he said, “Hybern has promised that our people shall remain untouched and undisturbed. It was a part of our … bargain. Our people will be safe when Hybern arrives. Though I’ve sent out word that families should … relocate to the eastern part of the territory. For the time being.”

Only after I’d needled him about it. Tamlin, it seemed, was willing to let the events in Hybern slide—how the king had _chained_ a High Lord of Prythian to the floor, regardless of an alliance. I, however, couldn’t get the images out of my mind. Couldn’t forget that collar of light around my throat, nearly suffocating me as I fought to get to Elain. If the king had so little regard for a High Lord, he would have even less for his people. And so I’d pushed for the relocation, had helped with much of it myself.

“That brings me to the other reason behind this meeting.” I dragged both eyes to Tamlin, my jaw tensing. He had mentioned no other purpose to the meeting. “The first delegation from Hybern arrives tomorrow.” _Fuck._ “Jurian will be here by noon.”


	2. Bold or Naïve

Feyre looked stricken as we waited on the steps to the manor the next morning. But I watched as she carefully trained her features into calm, marking the way her eyes glinted with cold. I wasn’t sure where she’d gained the ability—she used to be all but incapable of hiding her feelings. It had been part of what made her endearing, if annoying, as a human. I was glad for her discipline now, as much as it unnerved me. I, too, was drawing upon my years of work as an emissary in preparation for Jurian’s arrival.

I had only heard stories about the human commander, as I had not been born until after the War. But nothing I had heard had been pleasant, and nothing I’d witnessed in Hybern weeks ago had done anything to disprove the tales. He was oily like a snake, perhaps even mad. Not that I could blame him, after centuries spent as a piece of Amarantha’s jewelry.

I suppressed a shudder as Jurian and the two Hybern commanders winnowed in front of the manor. I had also heard tales of these two—the prince and princess, Hybern’s nephew and niece. Dagdan and Brannagh. I knew the lack of mercy in their eyes. I had seen it in Eris and my other brothers, though in the Hybern royals it ran even deeper. How were we allowed to live so long and become so endlessly cruel?

“You’re looking better than the last time I saw you,” Jurian said to Feyre. I would have stiffened if I weren’t already so tense. Baiting her already . . . this was not a good sign.

He introduced the royals and Tamlin said, “Welcome to my home. We have rooms prepared for all of you.”

 “My brother and I shall reside in one together,” Brannagh said.

Of course they would. Of _course_ they’d flaunt their influence in something as simple as living arrangements—

“We can easily make adjustments,” Feyre said, and I realized she had stepped down closer to them to curtsy. Bold, but also naïve, perhaps. With Feyre, I couldn’t tell which it was anymore.

A tense moment passed as Brannagh and Dagdan sized Feyre up. She did not flinch beneath their gaze, but Tamlin was bothered by their focus. “If you’re done staring at her, perhaps we can move on to the business between us.”

Jurian chuckled and said, “They’re curious.” As though they were animals. Then the human commander strode up the steps past us all without invitation. My hand itched to grab him, to enforce the order of things here, but his next words distracted me. “It’s not every century that the contested possession of a female launches a war. Especially a female with such … talents.”

This was what Tamlin and I had been trying to avoid in the first place by keeping Feyre’s newfound gifts a secret. But she had put on such a display in Hybern that there was no point in pretending anymore. And now that the secret was out . . . the hounds were on the hunt. My blood cooled in fear for Feyre, but her next words surprised me.

“Perhaps if you’d bothered going to war over Miryam, she wouldn’t have left you for Prince Drakon.”

I glanced sideways at Tamlin, but he was carefully monitoring both the royals and the interaction between Feyre and Jurian. He seemed to have forgotten how impudent she could be—but I was grateful. I had heard stories of Miryam and Drakon, too, but they were hardly the focus of the stories the Autumn Court liked to tell about the War. I wondered where Feyre had heard of them . . . and then decided I didn’t want to know.

“Careful what you say, girl.” Jurian’s words were a threat that both Tamlin and I marked, but Feyre seemed to brush it off as she caught up with him on the stairs. Again—bold or naïve?

 “Or what? You’ll throw me in the Cauldron?” she asked as she stole into the house ahead of him. “Here’s the first rule of this visit.” She barely looked at Jurian as she headed straight to the dining room. “Don’t threaten me in my own home.”

Bold. The Feyre we’d all missed.

I tried not to look too hard at Tamlin’s soft smile as he caressed her cheek in passing, leading our unpleasant guests to their first meal in the Spring Court.

 

-

 

I focused on my plate, pushing around chunks of meat as we ate in tense silence. I only barely paid attention as Brannagh described their plans to inspect the wall. It was only when Feyre said, “Lucien and I can escort you,” that I looked up, hiding my surprise.

Tamlin did _not_ hide his surprise, but whatever arguments danced behind his emerald eyes faded. “My emissary knows the wall as well as any sentry,” he said. My stomach clenched. It was true—I _did_ know the wall, knew its cracks and crevices. I’d accompanied the other sentries, accompanied Andras there. I’d said goodbye to him there. My friend, my . . .

I had forgiven Feyre long ago for what had happened. But I would never stop missing Andras.

I blinked as Feyre assured Tamlin that we would take other sentries, allowing the High Lord to relax. I relaxed, too, until Jurian said, “I always wondered who made that eye after she carved it out.”

My lips thinned and I fought off the nausea that came from the memory that assaulted him. The phantom searing pain that traced along my scar, the agony deep in my skull, the blood pouring down my face. I had never regretted what I’d said to her—she’d deserved it—but my eye was another of the many things in my life that I hadn’t properly valued until it was gone.

I let none of this show on my face—I’d had decades to learn to hide the trauma, and only the most severe situations allowed it win. I focused on the simple question beneath Jurian’s taunt. “I have an old friend at the Dawn Court. She’s skilled at tinkering—blending magic and machinery. Tamlin got her to craft it for me at great risk.” Nuan. I’d met her on many visits to the Dawn Court, where she was a prized member of Thesan’s court. Amarantha had been trying to acquire Nuan’s skills for her own use at the time, and my friend had gone into hiding. But Tamlin had managed to find her, request this favor for me. Nuan, herself familiar with such physical loss, had agreed in spite of the danger. To protect her, I’d always lied and simply attributed the gift to Tamlin, but now that Amarantha was gone, I had no trouble giving credit where it was due.

 “Does your little mate have a rival?”

  _Shit_. I was well-practiced at disguising the effects of my trauma, but this mate bond . . . it was still so new. I didn’t have experience fighting off the physical reactions the mere word _mate_ evinced in me. But I tried. I fought down the territorial wave that the taunt, the memory of Elain, brought crashing down on me. In as level a voice as I could muster, I answered, “My mate is none of your concern.”

 “She shouldn’t be any of yours, either, considering she’s probably been fucked by half the Illyrian army by now.”

My knuckles were white on the table. I could feel every nerve twitching in my face and my expression was drawn so tight that the fastening of my metal eye ached. _No_. No, that wouldn’t happen. That _couldn’t_ happen, not if Feyre had anything to say about it, and she _hadn’t_ , so—

Tamlin’s echoing snarl snapped me out of the fury and horror that gripped me. I swallowed and tried to relax my fingers on the table. “You will behave as a proper guest, Jurian, or you will sleep in the stables like the other beasts.”

 “Why should I be punished for stating the truth? Neither of you were in the War, when my forces allied with the Illyrian brutes.” He looked at Brannagh and Dagdan. “I suppose you two had the delight of fighting against them.”

 “We kept the wings of their generals and lords as trophies.” At Dagdan’s words, another waved of images pounded against the inside of my skull. Jesminda, her wings . . . that Summer Court fairy . . . I resisted the urge to shove my plate away from me, though the bile in my mouth made even the memory of the food I had eaten bitter.

Jurian did not at all seem bothered by the gruesome conversations. Given that he’d started it, I wasn’t surprised. “You know that we fought together, don’t you?” he said to Feyre. “Me and your High Lord. Held the lines against the Loyalists, battled side by side until gore was up to our shins.”

 “He is not her High Lord.” I glanced at Tamlin, whose lips were pale with fury at the thought of Rhysand.

 Jurian ignored him and continued, “He must have told you where he hid Miryam and Drakon.”

 “They’re dead,” Feyre said.

 “The Cauldron says otherwise.”

I suppressed a shudder at what hell the king could unleash with the Cauldron at his command. Power over death . . . it should not be.

“I was told they were dead,” Feyre said, her lip curling with impatience. She cut at her lamb, but I doubted she was in the mood to eat, either. “I’d think you’d have better things to do, Jurian, than obsess over the lover who jilted you.”

 I watched Jurian pierce with meat with too much vigor. “They say you were fucking Rhysand before you ever jilted your own lover.”

 _Shit_. I glanced at Feyre, who looked stricken and furious. No matter what had happened between them in the Night Court, I knew that she’d had no such contact with him before he’d taken her away from good. Even in those weeks, she’d never come back . . . smelling like him. I’d be willing to swear it, if it meant defending her honor, and Tamlin’s.

“That is enough,” Tamlin said through his teeth. His claws were out as he, too, was baited by the mention of the alleged bond between Feyre and Rhysand. It galled him, I knew, to even _consider_ that Feyre could choose Rhys over him, after the antagonism that had existed between them for centuries, since before I’d come to the Spring Court. And while no one could deny that Rhysand was beautiful, he was too . . . harsh, too cold for Feyre. He had taken her to _Hybern_ , for Cauldron’s sake! He clearly did not value Feyre’s safety the way Tamlin did, and this reminder, this taunting . . . I knew Tamlin would be close to snapping if this lunch wasn’t over soon.

There was a rattling as both Dagdan and Brannagh suddenly jerked back in their chairs. I’d been too lost in thought to realize how quiet it had become.

“What’s wrong?” Tamlin asked.

“Nothing,” Feyre said, seeming confused. She offered a sweet smile to the royals—an odd reaction given the turn of the conversation. “Their Highnesses must be tired after such a long journey.”

I held in my sigh of relief. This meal as over, at last.

Only, judging from the way Tamlin’s claws were still piercing the wood table, I would likely be spending the next several hours calming him down.


	3. The Gap and the Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre and Lucien escort the Hybern royals and Jurian to the wall, but the environment makes Lucien reflect on painful memories.

 

I had been hoping that the fresh air and the day’s ride to the wall would be enough to help clear the malaise that had settled over me since the Hybern royals had arrived with Jurian, but unfortunately, this was not to be the case. A dull headache throbbed in my skull, and I attributed it to a lack of sleep. I’d stayed up late with Tamlin, slowly plucking out all the barbs that Jurian’s taunting had left in his psyche, and I’d checked in on Feyre once after midnight before slinking into my own rooms to fall onto my own bed, barely managing to change out of my dinner clothes. Even then, I’d slept fitfully, dreaming of thrown javelins and Elain, soaked and trembling, standing on the other side of a battlefield strewn with felled Illyrians.

The morning mist dissipated quickly as we rode. The headache was persistent but not too painful. I tried to focus on the calmness of the forest, the sounds and smells that usually comforted me when I was unsettled. But the forest was not the same in the presence of the Hybern royals. It was eerily quiet, in a way it hadn’t been since Amarantha had been on the throne.

As we approached the wall, my headache was joined by roiling nausea in my gut. There was something so unnatural about the wall. Just being near it felt like approaching a cloud of noxious gas—my lungs constricted and my fists gripped my horses reigns tight. Dagdan and Brannagh seemed unbothered. In fact, their eyes seemed to glint in excitement as they sensed our arrival.

“The gap in the wall is right up here,” I said, gesturing with my wrist to the opening that I knew all too well. I’d seen many a sentry depart here, not to return. I’d been the sole male to accompany Andras on the day he’d left. We’d planned it that way.

_We stood by an old willow tree that hung its branches over the gap, shivering as the winter wind on the human side of the wall slipped through the gap and chilled our skin. I held his hand as we stared into the gap, his calloused hands encompassing mine. He’d always teased me for my courtier’s hands—I had plenty of callouses myself, but he still called them “fine and fancy.” Now, we held tight to each other, knowing it would be the last time we would get the chance._

_He was one of the only sentries left. He’d_ volunteered _to go, knowing the danger, knowing that he might not return. I was surprised that I hadn’t been angry when he’d told me after the fact. It was so Andras, so true to who he was, that I realized I would have been more surprised if he’d chosen to stay. And Tamlin was losing hope—Andras hadn’t yet. So what was I to do? Beg him to stay, when the future of Prythian was at stake? I had lived too long and been through too much to prioritize my own heart over the safety of my homeland._

_At least this time, I would have a chance to say goodbye to the one I loved._

_“Tamlin’s spell should take effect as soon as you cross over,” I said, struggling to speak past the lump in my throat._

_“Shame you won’t see me in all my glory,” Andras teased, scratching his chestnut beard and cracking a sideways grin. His golden eyes looked sideways at me, and the faint beams of sunset breaking through the trees warmed his sepia skin and cast shadows over his silver lupine mask and square jaw._

_“I’m sure you’ll make a stunning wolf,” I said quietly, furrowing my brow as I looked back toward the gap in the wall._

_“Not nearly so stunning as the fox you’d make.” His right hand crossed his body and caressed the long red strands of my hair. I swallowed—I would miss that touch. I didn’t look at him, but then he lifted our joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of my palm. A broken sound escaped my lips unbidden. Andras was the only one who could catch me so undone._

_He stepped in front of me to face me, forcing me to tear my eyes away from the gap in the wall. His breathing was rough as he looked down at me, eyes burning. “Lucien,” he said. He looked skyward and gritted his teeth. “This is the right thing.”_

_“I know,” I rasped. We’d had this conversation a dozen times by now. It was too late to turn back. Despite my awareness of what this could cost, I still held on to a kernel of selfish hope that this expedition would be a failure. That perhaps Andras could come back to me. Perhaps the world deserved to burn, to fall. Even if we had to live in that bitch’s kingdom, wouldn’t it be better if we were together?_

_“Cauldron,” Andras swore, emotion breaking through his voice. “I love you. I promised I wouldn’t say it, but—”_

_I knew he was about to wax poetic, and I couldn’t bear it. I gripped the back of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss, rough and seeking. The last we’d ever share. Andras responded with vigor, his hand fisting in my hair as we clung to each other. When we forced ourselves apart, our foreheads touched as we both caught our breath. I ached for him, wanted him again, one last time, but we both knew it was too late for that. We needed to let go now._

_“Goodbye,” I gasped. “Save us.”_

_“I will,” Andras swore, even as he knew what it would cost him. “Take care of our home.”_

_I nodded stiffly. “I promise.” I released him and stepped back, my hands fisting at my sides._

_“And the girl,” Andras said, speaking more quickly now, as though he would run out of time. “Don’t hate her. Help her. Remember—I chose this.”_

_The invisible dagger lodged in my chest twisted. “I won’t let you down. I’m . . . I’m proud of you. And I won’t forget.”_

_“Nor will I,” Andras said. He stepped forward toward the wall, shuddering at the magic washed over him. He looked over his shoulder once. “Stay strong, Luc. Goodbye.”_

_My words were gone. I could only nod. My silver tongue lay limp as I watched him step forward. There were words I should say, I knew it, but I was unable to form them. I only watched as Andras slipped through the gap. As he crossed the line, there was a flash as his body morphed into a massive wolf—glory. Glory indeed. He would never know that I saw it. His head swung around, his amber eyes seeking me, unable to see me through the wall. But I felt the piercing gaze nonetheless, and it would haunt my dreams for the rest of my days._

“Who cleaved the wall here?” Brannagh’s lilting voice dragged me back to the present, and I blinked away the memory of those golden eyes through the trees.

“We don’t know. Some of the holes just appeared over the centuries. This one is barely wide enough for one person to get through,” I answered, successfully concealing my haunted thoughts.

Feyre was suddenly beside me. “This is where I came through—that first time.”

I felt like I was cleaved in two, then. Half of me was still in the past with Andras, parting with my friend and love, knowing that I would never see him again. The other half was here, now, with the female who had come in his place, and, despite all odds, become something of a friend to me. If not for Andras’s parting words—his forgiveness for the human girl he’d known— _hoped_ —would kill him, I doubted I’d feel such a kinship with Feyre now. I certainly would not have tried to befriend her, even with Tamlin’s promptings. But now, with Brannagh and Dagdan still eyeing her, I did not even think before shifting my body slightly to shield her from them, in any way I could.

Brannagh’s smile was ice-cold. “How many holes are in the wall?”

“We’ve counted three along our entire border, plus one off the coast—about a mile away,” I answered. Considering how old the wall was, it was rather impressive that it was still so intact.

“The sea entrances are of no use. We need to break it on the land,” the princess answered. I made a note to myself to find out why that was, in case would be useful to Tamlin later.

“The continent surely has spots, too,” I said. It was a feeble attempt to draw attention away from our continent, but I’d be stupid not to at least try.

“Their queens have an even weaker grasp on their people than you do.” Dagdan’s derision was evident, and I bristled at the insult. If it hadn’t been for Amarantha, our court would not be so weak. And Amarantha was Hybernian. I was not stupid—I knew that this was all part of a very long plan of Hybern’s. But it still infuriated me that we’d been powerless to stop it from unfolding.

“We’ll leave you to explore it, then,” Feyre said. “When you’re done, we’ll ride to the next.”

I raised my eyebrows. “It’s two days from here.” Was she really so eager to give Hybern all that they wanted?

“Then we’ll plan a trip for that excursion,” Feyre insisted. I held my tongue—she was the future Lady of the court, after all. “And the third hole?”

It was getting harder to hide my agitation, and my foot drummed a rhythm on the mossy earth. “Two days past that.”

Feyre assessed the royals. “Can both of you winnow?”

I suppressed a shiver as I remembered that night in the Illyrian Steppes. When Feyre had winnowed. I had turned it over in my mind again and again. Why would Rhysand teach her to winnow when it could be her escape? He was arrogant, but I didn’t know him to be a fool. Perhaps he’d been molding her into some kind of weapon—that was the only explanation I had come to. At least now she was free and could use the skills he’d taught her for good.

“I can,” Dagdan said. “Only a few miles if I bear others.”

I nodded. I was about the same. Tamlin could winnow much further. I was quietly surprised that the royalty of Hybern did not possess at least the same level of skill as Tamlin in this area.

The royals went off the explore, and Feyre and I lingered. She perched upon a large rock and I sank down onto the ground, exuding ease despite my heightened cautions. I reclined against a tree, ankles crossed. Alone now, I could prod at Feyre a bit more. I couldn’t track her movements regarding Hybern. She had not been such an enigma in the past. “Whatever you’re planning, it’ll land us knee-deep in shit.” Feyre was a good problem-solver, but she was not practiced in Fae politics and machinations. Sooner or later, she’d slip up. I had to be right beside her to prevent disaster when she did.

“I’m not planning anything.” Feyre played with a flower, exuding the demeanor of a Lady of Spring. I didn’t fall for it for a second. The skin revealed by her rolled-up sleeves swam again as it had in the studio the other day. The enchantments in my eye weren’t enough to pick apart whatever magic was lingering there, but there was _something_.

Feyre noticed me staring. “What do you even see with that thing?”

Too much, and not enough.

“Don’t trust me? After all we’ve been through?” She flicked the dogwood blossom away, a casual movement laden with meaning. I was silent as I puzzled over it. I didn’t know what to say to her, anyway. And the key to having a silver tongue was knowing when to keep silent.

It worked. Feyre grew uncomfortable and disguised it by sifting through her bag for water. “If you’d been alive for the War,” she asked between drinks, “would you have fought on their side? Or fought for the humans?”

I ran my tongue along the back of my teeth, offended that she would even ask. “I would have been a part of the human-Fae alliance.”

“Even if your father wasn’t?”

“Especially if my father wasn’t.” The development of my moral compass in my childhood had been simple—whatever my father had chosen to do, I would do the opposite.

“And yet here you are, ready to march with Hybern.”

My nostrils flared and my hand fisted in the grass beside me, on the side Feyre couldn’t see. “I did it for you, too, you know. I went with him to get you back.” It had taken me _weeks_ to get through Prythian, to find her. Not just because of Tamlin, or Andras, but because, after everything . . . Feyre was my _friend_.

“I never realized what a powerful motivator guilt can be.”

My fingers were in the earth now, soil shoving its way under my fingernails. “That day you—went away,” I said, determined to make her see—make her _understand_ , “I beat Tamlin back to the manor—received the message when we were out on the border and raced here. But the only trace of you was that ring, melted between the stones of the parlor. I got rid of it a moment before Tam arrived home to see it.”

I hadn’t known what to make of that day. We had done _everything_ to make sure that Feyre would be safe. When I had arrived, seen the aftermath of her disappearance, the only thing I could think was that I had failed—failed Tamlin, failed Andras, failed _her_. It had been like Jesminda all over again. I didn’t love Feyre like I had loved Jesminda, but the loss—especially knowing it would be my friend and High Lord to feel it this time—had still cut deep.

And the remains of the ring . . . I didn’t understand it. I had thought of many explanations—we knew about her fire magic, the bit of Autumn that she had inherited. No Night Court denizens that we knew of had the power to melt gold, and it only stood to reason that Feyre had melted that ring herself. But why? She was upset, I knew. Knew and understood. I had argued with Tamlin all the way to the border that leaving her behind, locking her up, was a bad decision, but I had been unable to get through to him. And I was already dancing a thin line with him—his temper was more easily provoked after we’d returned home. He’d been that way in the earlier years of his reign, too, but the panicked edge to it was new.

I had expected Feyre to be upset, but melting the ring, maybe running away? That I had not expected. When Alis had explained the arrival of the Morrigan, Rhysand’s Third in Command, it had been an easy excuse easy distraction. But I kept the melted remains of the ring in a secret drawer in my room. I’d taken them out and stared at them in those months we’d tried to find her—a reminder to myself that my friend was in distress, and that the Night Court had taken advantage of her weakness to steal her away. I had known them to be shrewd and brutal, but this was beyond anything I’d expected. It had only furthered my motivation to find her.

“They melted it off my finger,” Feyre said. I didn’t bother telling her that I knew the magic had been hers, even if Tamlin and everyone else denied it.

After a few minutes of quiet, Feyre said, “Thank you. For coming to Hybern to get me.”

I was making a mess of the moss and grass near my thigh. My hands would be filthy by the time the others returned. I glanced at her, unable to read her face. But I decided that even if she was not willing be honest with me, I could lay the groundwork—try to be honest with her. Maybe eventually she’d return the gesture. “It was a trap. What I thought we were to do there … it did not turn out that way.”

I had been reluctant to go to Hybern in the first place. I’d been fortunate thus far never to have been sent their as an emissary, and after our experiences with Amarantha, I was unwilling to tempt fate. But Tamlin had insisted. My contacts throughout the courts had gathered that Hybern was awakening again, and even whispers I’d heard Under the Mountain had confirmed this. Tamlin had rightly seen that we should be prepared, and he was convinced that the King of Hybern was the only one who would have the ability to break the bargain between Feyre and Rhysand—especially since Helion Spell-Cleaver was too close to the Night Court and had outright refused my request to visit his court to even ask. It had been Ianthe’s idea to approach him to see what could be worked out, and Tamlin’s dependence on the priestess had made him more inclined to heed her advice.

I had thought we were going simply to explore our options, but without even taking time to consult with me and consider our options, Tamlin had entered into a bargain with the king, and I had been left to work with the remnants. Then, on our way out of the castle, the Night Court had turned up . . . and everything had gone straight to hell.

Despite the topic of conversation, Feyre came over and sat beside me. It bothered me that I was comforted by the gesture. “This situation is terrible,” Feyre said.

I snorted. Understatement of the century.

She nudged me with her knee. “Don’t let Jurian bait you. He’s doing it to feel out any weaknesses between us.”

“I know.” I knew it all too clearly—but he seemed unnaturally gifted at prying out the most painful parts of my past. I attributed it to living on Amarantha’s finger for five centuries.

Feyre looked at me, her blue-grey eyes like steel. “Why?” she asked. “Why does Hybern want to do this beyond some horrible desire for conquest? What drives him—his people? Hatred? Arrogance?”

I wanted to answer her, badly. But there was so much—so much history. And I had no idea what lies Rhysand had filled her head with, what he’d told her at all, if anything. I’d need to know, if I was going to help her at all. “Do you—”

Naturally, we were to be interrupted. The conversation would have to wait.

My eyes glanced up at the royals and Jurian as they appeared through the trees. My stomach soured the second I observed Jurian’s wicked gaze.

“Careful, Lucien,” the human sneered. “You see what happens to males who touch the High Lord’s belongings.”

I snarled, preparing to curse him for his obscenity as I hadn’t had the liberty to do in front of Tamlin yesterday, but Feyre caught my eye and stopped me short. Right. Don’t let him bait me.

Not for the first time, I was thankful to have Feyre at my side again. My friend—it was good to have my friend back.

* * *

 

When we returned to the manor, my desire for peace and quiet was thwarted by the presence of Ianthe . . . the person whom, until the arrival of Jurian and the Hybern royals, had been the person I disliked most in all the Spring Court. She was desperate to charm the visitors, and watching her flit around them like a moth was sickening.

I had passed off the reigns of my horse, only to realize that Feyre had yet to dismount. Only when I caught her eye did I understand the issue—she was stiff-sore, unused to being on a horse so such an extended period. I had half a mind to leave her there, just for the entertainment, but my sympathy for her won out. I braced my arms around her waist and lifted her off. She was heavier than she’d been a few months ago—I noticed the muscle beneath her bodice, but I did not remark on it. I wondered if Tamlin had noticed, too.

Feyre gave me a thankful pat on the shoulder and I smirked at her as I bowed. It was familiar, like our banter before we’d all gone Under the Mountain. I might have been a little too desperate to regain some of that lost ground.

Ianthe buzzed right over and began prodding Feyre with questions, but I had long ago tuned out the incessant trill of the priestess’s voice. I was tired, and had little patience for her. “What do you want?” I said sharply, nearly interrupting one of her platitudes. There had to be a reason she would leap on us the moment we returned.

“We’re to have a party in honor of our guests—and to coincide with the Summer Solstice in a few days. I wished to speak to Feyre about it,” Ianthe explained. She looked me up and down with a serpentine smile. “Unless you have an objection to that.”

I opened my mouth to tell her to bother someone else with her frivolous concerns—Feyre hated parties, and I could spare her from having to deal with Ianthe at least for tonight. I was well aware of how Ianthe could manipulate _parties_ to her own advantage, particularly ones involving holidays. If I could keep Feyre from having to find out about that the hard way as I had, I’d do anything.

“He doesn’t,” Feyre said before I could intervene. I raised my eyebrows. “Give me an hour to eat and change, and I’ll meet you in the study.”

It was authoritative at least. A sign that she wouldn’t let Ianthe plow her down, which was a step in the right direction. Feyre looped her arm through mine and purposefully led us from the stables. It wasn’t until we were in motion that I realized how tense I’d become.

Feyre had noticed, and when we were out of Ianthe’s earshot, she said, “What happened between you?”

My jaw was tight. “It’s not worth repeating.” She had enough to deal with, and since we still didn’t know the extent to which she’d been mistreated in the Night Court, I didn’t want to risk bringing up a topic that could be far too personal and upsetting to her. She didn’t need to hear about my problems when she had enough of her own to think about.

“When I—was taken,” Feyre said, and I swallowed a growl. “Did she and Tamlin …”

Devastation, thick and cold, fell over my heart when I understood her fear. I didn’t blame her for wondering, not for a second, though it troubled me that she’d have so little faith in Tamlin. Of course, with the lies Rhys might have fed her . . . it didn’t surprise me.

“No,” I answered. “No. When Calanmai came along, he refused. He flat-out refused to participate. I replaced him in the Rite, but …” It was so hard to voice what had happened that night. I should have been proud to serve my court in such a way, but all I felt was disgust, as though I had defiled myself in some way. I tried to tell myself that it was only an effect of the mating bond that I was now aware of, but I had felt that way before the bond, too. I didn’t like to examine those feelings too closely, so I was yet to come to any conclusion about them.

Feyre’s voice was small. “You took Ianthe into that cave on Calanmai?”

I couldn’t look at her. What must she think of me, knowing now as I did that I was her sister’s mate? I had _bedded_ the woman who had betrayed her family. Cauldron, if Elain ever found out . . .

She wouldn’t. It was unlikely that Elain would ever look at me, let alone agree to a bond between us. I wouldn’t blame her at all. But the bond within me ached and burned at the truth of it. I drew in a breath. “She insisted. Tamlin was … Things were bad, Feyre. I went in his stead, and I did my duty to the court. I went of my own free will. And we completed the Rite.” I could barely admit to myself, but I was angry at Tamlin for it. He was a High Lord . . . he had certain duties to uphold. And Feyre . . . I suspected that Feyre would have understood. She had been here during last year’s Calanmai, after all. She knew what the magic did to Tamlin, knew the importance of the ritual. They had been nearly involved then, and it had been only my intervention that had kept them apart.

I was glad. Having experienced that magic myself now, I would not wish that experience upon Tamlin and Feyre.

It should not have been my duty. But it had been, and at least Ianthe was satisfied.

I gritted my teeth and shut down all the emotions. I did not have the luxury of self-pity right now. I hadn’t for a long time, in fact. What had been done was done. There was only forward now. But—

“Please don’t tell Elain,” I said. “When we—when we find her again.” The mate bond, like a millstone around my neck, compelled me to say the words. To preserve a shred of dignity for my mate.

“I won’t tell anyone unless you say so.” Feyre looked as troubled as I did. “I wish I had been there to stop it. I should have been there to stop it.” I cursed internally. This is what I had been trying to avoid—I didn’t want her to feel guilty for whatever had happened while she’d been a captive. She was here now, and we all needed to move forward. I just needed to get my head out of my ass and stop bringing up such sore subjects.

But her understanding . . . it was nice to have that, when no one else seemed to care. I didn’t ask them to, of course, but Feyre . . . her once-human heart still beat strong. And I was thankful for it. I wished I had modicum of the compassion her heart contained. I gave her arm a gentle squeeze as we approached the house. “You are a better friend to me, Feyre, than I ever was to you.”


	4. A Day of Forgetting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer Solstice puts Lucien in more than one complicated situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 4 and 5 of ACOWAR.

 

I didn’t sleep much the night before the Summer Solstice. I tossed and turned, neither sleeping nor dreaming, just waiting for the dawn. I eventually gave up and was already dressed by the time the servants came to fetch me to get ready for the procession to the temple for Ianthe’s ritual.

It had been a long time since we’d observed the ritual associated with Summer Solstice. Unlike Calanmai, which was woven into the very fabric of our court, the religious aspect of Summer Solstice had faded into obscurity during the years of Amarantha and the absence of a High Priestess to officiate. I appreciated the holiday for the purposes of celebration—I’d always made an effort to participate and enjoy myself whenever the holiday came around. It was the one time of year I could allow myself to forget all the dangers and troubles that constantly lurked outside our court.

I would have been more sour about being up early to greet the sun if I hadn’t been up for hours already. To be safe, I requested a concoction from the kitchen that would give me more energy. At least I looked more alert than Jurian and the royals from Hybern, who all looked murderous in the pre-dawn light.

Feyre, however, was the picture of dawn itself. It was . . . surreal. Even though I tried to force myself to forget about it, I could hardly look at her in her white dress without also seeing her in bloodstained Illyrian leathers, covered in knives. But, even when I did manage to ignore that image, my mind replaced it with her covered in mud and dirt from her battle with the Middengard Wyrm. This Feyre, serene and pure, didn’t fit what I knew to be true of her.

A year ago, she’d hardly consented to wearing a dress at all.

I chuckled to myself as we followed behind her horse. A year ago I’d been attempting to babysit her, trying to keep her from getting drunk on faerie wine. Despite my concern for her then, I had confessed to Tamlin later that it had been a sight to see her dance and smile, to see her shed her usual morose demeanor. Tamlin’s wistful response had told me all I needed to know.

As he helped her down from the horse, I saw again all I needed to know. He remembered well enough. I didn’t blame him. I still knew and remembered the exact day I had first laid eyes on Jesminda, and every year I went on a solo hunt to remember her and keep away from any who might provoke me. Tamlin hadn’t had that luxury in the months Feyre had been gone. We’d all learned to adjust.

I turned my attention to Ianthe as she began droning on with all her prayers and platitudes. I underestimated the power of my morning beverage and was soon struggling to stay awake—my night of sleeplessness had caught up to me sooner than I’d hoped. I jerked awake enough to smirk as Ianthe forced Brannagh and Dagdan to participate in the rituals, but I was thankful that she would request nothing of me. I murmured my own sort of prayer when Tamlin lit the candles for those we’d lost in the past year—thankfully far fewer than in years past, but still enough to be missed. At last, the ceremony was beginning to draw to a close, and all that would remain was Ianthe’s final spectacle.

But . . . something was different.

I was aware of it as one is aware of the sun rousing them from sleep in the mornings. Slowly, groggily, and then . . . understanding. Feyre and I were the only ones left standing in front of the altar. The light, the angle . . . this wouldn’t work the way Ianthe had told us it would. Feyre herself had requested certain prayers be used, and since she had never been remotely religious . . .

I hadn’t thought much of it before. But she was planning something.

When the sun rose over the horizon, I finally understood. And I smiled.

Feyre was _glowing_. Not like she had flashed and burned in Hybern. No, she was glowing with the radiance and glory of the summer sun, the glory that Ianthe had sought to claim for herself. I couldn’t figure out how Feyre had planned this or manipulated the ceremony, but I _knew_ she had. And the sight of Ianthe’s face as she finally turned to see the source of the gasping and wonder filled me with such wicked joy I almost felt ashamed for it.

I glanced at Feyre, whose face was open with false modesty and awe of her own. My lips twisted discreetly. I would play this game with her.

When she reached out her hand for me, I hid my wry grin. Instead, I accepted her offered fingers and dropped to my knee before her. She was the Cursebreaker, after all, and would soon by my Lady. Ianthe was nothing more than a simpering, ambitious hypocrite. Feyre was my friend, and I would gladly help her wrest the control of this court away from Ianthe and her preening acolytes.

When Feyre’s light rippled over me as well, I didn’t flinch away.

* * *

 

I knew I was smirking like the cat who caught the canary the rest of the day as I accompanied Feyre back to the house and watched Ianthe try to explain away the anomaly—explain why Feyre had displayed the power and not she. It was endlessly satisfying to see Ianthe knocked down a peg, and though I deliberately avoided her gaze, I sensed she knew that I was getting too much enjoyment out of this. She might make me pay for it later, but I could forget about that in the celebrations that were to follow.

When Feyre went up to her room to refresh herself, Tamlin appeared at my side. For a moment, he said nothing. He just stared up the stairs after her. I knew what he was remembering.

“She’s home, Tam,” I said to him, patting his forearm.

“Yes,” he agreed, but there was hesitation in his voice, the set of his jaw. “But she is not the same.”

“Are any of us the same?” I asked lightly, though the question was too complex to be completely casual.

“I am,” he said with a surprising amount of surety. “At least, I’m better. More like myself. But Feyre . . . she is not the same female she was last year.”

“Are you . . . all right with that?”

Tamlin looked at me like I had two heads. “Cauldron, yes. But this morning . . . it was the first time I really let myself believe that we could have some of it back. The . . . the happiness. The light.”

My throat was dry, but I nodded. “I understand.”

Tamlin was quiet a moment before he said, “She glowed like that in Hybern, too.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” I asked, though I had noticed the same thing. “I wouldn’t think too hard on it. It’s likely a bit of Helion Spell-Cleaver’s gift. He just uses it for the aesthetic, as far as I know.” I hadn’t been in Helion’s court for years—since before Amarantha, in fact—but Helion was like Rhys that way: always flashing his power around for the look of it. Helion’s closeness to Rhys in location and in personality had placed him lower on the list of interest for negotiations with the Spring Court, but our relationship with him wasn’t nearly as bad as Autumn Court’s had been when I was a child. I still hardly knew the reason—likely a fit of pique from my father—but I hadn’t even seen the Day Court until I was well into adulthood, and then I’d only seen Helion from a distance.

“It makes me nervous when she reminds others that she is . . . not like them. It puts her in danger,” Tamlin said.

“Everyone in Prythian knows that Feyre was Made,” I said. “We can keep the extent of it to ourselves, of course, but if she glows once in a while, I doubt people will look too closely.”

Tamlin sighed. “You’re right,” he said. He smiled, and it was a little less burdened than it’d been earlier. “Thank you.”

I just nodded as he patted my shoulder and went to enjoy the party some more. I lingered, preferring to drink instead of dance. But I straightened when I saw Feyre approach Tamlin, her hand outstretched. I couldn’t hear them from here, but I saw her lips form the words, “Dance with me?”

My heart clenched tightly, and I wasn’t sure if it was relief, happiness, or envy produced by an unsatisfied mating bond.

The wine soured in my mouth, and as the evening wore on, the mating bond began to gnaw at me like a ravenous dog at his bone. Whenever a female approached me, interested in dancing, I would open my mouth to agree before the dog would snap at me and force me to restrain myself. My mating bond was known only to those who had been present on Hybern, and I preferred it that way. But I could hardly explain to the innocent females who asked me to dance with them that I had a mate, but no, she was not present; no, were not yet confirmed; and no, I had never danced with her because _she was a prisoner in an enemy court_.

I could say none of this. So I simply drank.

I was beyond relieved when Feyre at last asked me to escort her back to her room. So much for a day of forgetting.

* * *

 

Despite the alcohol and the previous night’s lack of sleep, rest evaded me once again. This time I did manage to fall asleep, but the piqued mating bond filled my dreams with Elain’s scent, her face . . . her screams. I wondered if she’d been allowed to see the sun today. I imagined her on my arm, escorting her around the ballroom and showing off the female I could finally call _mine_. She would smile, and look at me like she loved me, and then . . .

. . . then a dark cloud would come to steal her away, and her screams would echo in the empty ballroom where I suddenly alone. Deeply and painfully alone.

I startled awake, covered in sweat. Elain’s screams still echoed in my mind, even in my wakefulness. But then I realized that the cries were not coming from my dreams, but from across the hall. Not quite screams, but . . .whimpers. Moans.

Feyre.

I was already up and crossing the room when the knock on the door came. I hastily pulled on a pair of pants, but I didn’t bother with the shirt. When I opened the door on the second knock, Feyre was standing there, looking so small and frail—more like the Feyre who’d come out from Under the Mountain, and not Feyre Cauldron-Blessed of the previous morning.

“I heard you. What’s wrong?” I asked.

Feyre didn’t answer. She only shuddered. I swung my door open to allow her inside, out of the lonely hallway. She stepped past me, still shivering. I didn’t reach out to comfort her—she hadn’t taken well to touching before and I doubted she would now. I just propped myself up against the armchair, waiting patiently for her to explain. She didn’t appear to be in immediate danger—only shaken.

“I dream about it,” she said at last. “Under the Mountain. And when I wake up, I can’t remember where I am. I can’t remember _when_ I am.”

Cold goosebumps rose up on my arms, and it took a large amount of self-control not to shudder. I dreamed about it too—almost every night, ever since. Rhysand’s claws of night digging into my mind; my brothers’ taunts; Tamlin being forced to whip me.

My arms uncrossed and one habitually rose over my shoulders to trace the upper reaches of the scarring still present there. I disguised it by pretending to scratch my neck.

This wasn’t about me. This was about Feyre. “What did you dream of tonight?” I asked her, keeping my tone as gentle as I could.

Feyre’s eyes, glinting silver in the moonlight from the window, met mine. Despite her haunted look, she was practically ethereal in the night. “She had me spiked to the wall. Like Clare Beddor. And the Attor was—” She couldn’t finish. She buried her face in her hands.

My stomach twisted as I pushed myself off the chair to come closer to her. This wasn’t her causing trouble, not working the system as she’d been doing with the entourage from Hybern. This was Feyre, my friend, and despite my own nightmares and exhaustion, she needed me.

Still, I was surprised when she threw her arms around me. I stiffened on instinct, but when I felt her tears drop onto my chest, I looped a comforting arm around her. I cradled her head with my other hand. The mating bond offered me an uncomfortable reminder that my mate had the exact same hair color. I wondered if it would feel the same. I shoved down the unwelcome thoughts and focused on my friend.

“I’m sorry,” I said to her. “I’m sorry.” It was the absolute truth. She did not deserve any of this. In these moments, I was reminded of how very _young_ she was. How little she had seen and done in this world. She did not deserve to be tormented like this, not in the way someone like me was.

I didn’t have any other words to offer her. I cursed my own uselessness.

Feyre’s weeping slowly calmed, and her fingers gripped my shoulders—thankfully not near enough to my scars to notice them. The night hung between us, our shared trauma a weight balanced between our shoulders. She opened her mouth as though to say something, and then—

“What’s going on?”

My heart jumped painfully and I turned to look at the door.

Tamlin.

Feyre pushed away from me hastily, and I stepped back as well. My eyes fell to his hands—sure enough, his claws gleamed in the finger of moonlight stretching across the room.

Shit.

 _Shit_.

“I had a nightmare,” Feyre said, her voice tight. “I—I didn’t want to wake the house.”

Tamlin did not look at her, acknowledge her. He just stared at me, fury and betrayal in his eyes.

“I had a nightmare,” Feyre snapped. She strode across the room and grasped Tamlin’s arm, leading him back toward her room.

I was frozen, my head empty of everything except the distant echoes of Elain’s screams and the searing anger in Tamlin’s eyes. That wasn’t what it looked like—of _course_ it wasn’t. Tamlin had to know. Didn’t he? A string of curse words ran on repeat in my mind like a taunting military drill.

I heard Feyre slam the door in Tamlin’s face. My door was closed, but I could feel Tamlin’s eyes through it, as though he was debating coming in here to stake his claim. I wouldn’t blame him, truthfully. What he’d seen—I wouldn’t blame him for interpreting it the way he likely was. After all, we’d had plenty of conversations when Feyre had first come here over a year ago—plenty of warnings, that is, not to get too close to Feyre that she might overlook Tamlin entirely and ruin our chance at freedom from Amarantha. Nothing explicit—only oblique references to our “hunts” together, which became fewer and farther between as a result. I had assured him that I was hardly about to start anything with the human who had murdered Andras, but . . . Tamlin had been difficult to convince.

Now, with everything that had happened since we’d all returned home, since Amaranth wasn’t there as a catalyst keeping Feyre and Tamlin together . . . I understood his fear. I was a stupid fool for putting myself in such a position with Feyre.

I’d only wanted to help her.

I stood stiff as a rod in front of my fireplace for several minutes, and Tamlin eventually stalked away. He had decided not to have it out with me tonight, when we’d likely wake the whole house. But I was under no illusion that I would not have words from him about this. At least it would give me the night to prepare myself.

After all, I wasn’t about to sleep again any time soon.


	5. A Blighted Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien must deal with the aftermath of a late-night misunderstanding.

 

 

I was not the least bit surprised when Tamlin summoned me to the study barely an hour past dawn. Once again, I had not slept, but I was used to concealing my insomnia. I knocked on the door to his study and did not bother to pretend that this was going to be an amicable meeting. Tamlin was seated with his feet on his desk, glaring out the window and sucking on his top teeth. I stopped a healthy distance away from the desk and folded my hands behind my back, waiting in silence.

“Any explanations?” Tamlin asked, his voice a low growl. He still didn’t look at me, and I could barely breathe. My eyes checked his hands, and though the skin at his knuckles strained, there was no sign of claws—yet.

I drew a breath and said, “Exactly what we told you last night. She had a nightmare. She came to my room, panicked, and I tried to get her to calm down.”

“By holding her? Both of you practically _naked?_ ” Tamlin’s green eyes glowed and turned to me, though he didn’t turn his head. His jaw was tight, and his hand curled into a fist. Still no claws.

I let out a tiny sigh. “Tam, it’s Summer Solstice. It’s warm at night. There’s nothing more to read into than that.”

“Oh, really?” He placed his feet on the floor and finally turned to face me. “And why, do you think, might she have come to _your_ room instead of her future husband’s?”

I was quiet as I bit down all the things I wanted to say. If the servants’ gossip was anything to go by, Tamlin had never awoken for or helped Feyre during her nightmares. Also, since he had destroyed her last bedroom, she’d been forced to take up a room closer to me. That hadn’t been my decision. If I had suspected that something like this would happen, I would have made them find another room. There were plenty to go around in this damned house, after all. I should have anticipated the problem. “Proximity,” was all I said. “You weren’t in bed yet, either. In her panicked state, I doubt she would have thought to look for you in your room.”

Tamlin pressed and rolled his lips together. “You and I have talked about this, Lucien. You and I are friends. I’ve given you a home, a livelihood, and all I ever asked in return was for your friendship—and _not_ to interfere between me and Feyre.”

My stomach roiling, burning me from the inside. “I know. I’m not _trying_ —”

“I know she looks like your mate,” Tamlin said, “but—”

An uncontrolled snarl ripped from my lips. My eye widened as I realized what I’d done, and I looked at the carpet in shame. “I’m sorry, High Lord.”

Tamlin was quiet for a long moment, but I did not dare look at his face. “You can’t control it,” he said. Surprised, I glanced up at him, though I kept my head angled down. “We males can’t help ourselves where our females are concerned.”

The words clanged around in my head, blending with everything Feyre had to me both before and after she had gone to the Night Court. They struck an unpleasant chord. Tamlin and Feyre weren’t even mates yet—perhaps wouldn’t be ever, if Rhysand’s claim had been true. If Tamlin’s love for Feyre made him so wild and he wasn’t even mated to her . . . what would become of me if I ever got close to Elain?

The part of me that cherished what might become of us if we were to meet withered like a blighted flower in my chest.

“Feyre is not my female,” I said, emphasizing every word, “and I have no interest in being anything but a friend to her. If that—” I drew in a breath and forced myself to say the next words. “If even that is displeasing to you, I’ll separate myself from her. I’ll do what I need to if it means helping you.” Even if the thought of losing Feyre’s friendship ached like lashes across my skin. Tamlin—he had done so much for me. I wouldn’t be alive without him.

I wouldn’t be alive without Feyre, either.

I took another deep breath. Keeping Tamlin’s friendship and Feyre’s didn’t have to be separate goals. Once this mess with Hybern was over, there would be no conflict, no fear. Until then . . . I could keep my distance if I had to. If it was what Tamlin wanted.

“Don’t be dramatic, Lucien,” Tamlin said. He unlaced his fingers and cracked a half-smile. “You know what’s at stake. I trust you’ll do what’s best for the court.” He rose as smoothly as a cat. As he walked past me, he clapped me on the shoulder.

I was surprised by how tense I’d become to keep from flinching.

-

I had never been happier to eat breakfast. Well, I had, but this was a _very_ good breakfast. I focused on my plate, carefully avoiding Feyre’s searching eyes. Perhaps the drama of the past day would float by and I’d get to _breathe_ a little—

Or not.

“I am sorry to interrupt your meal, but there is a matter to discuss, High Lord.” Ianthe, decorated as always, paused before the table, her lips pursed into a practiced frown. I reluctantly lifted my eyes from my poached eggs and watched her carefully.

“What is it?” Tamlin demanded irritably. Despite the fact that we’d left off on a better note this morning, his mood had not markedly improved.

Ianthe glanced to Jurian and the royals. “Perhaps we should wait until after the meal. When you are alone.” I held in a snort. She had so obviously come here intending to arouse interest from the royals, whom she was still having difficulty impressing. After yesterday, it was going to be especially difficult, when Feyre clearly had the people’s affection.

Feyre saw it, too. “If we can trust our allies in Hybern to go to war with us, then we can trust them to use discretion. Go ahead, Ianthe.” I was too exhausted to really enjoy the game, but I paid attention regardless.

Ianthe pointedly ignored Feyre, and Tamlin seemed to recognize it. “Let’s hear it,” he said to Ianthe. She couldn’t well avoid it now.

“There is … My acolytes discovered that the land around my temple is … dying.”

“Then tell the gardeners.” The princess found the news just as trivial as I expected she would, though I knew Ianthe well enough to know that there was a reason for this particular tale.

Ianthe looked indignant. “It is not a matter of gardening. It is a blight upon the land. Grass, root, bud—all of it, shriveled up and sickly. It reeks of the naga.” I suppressed an eye-roll at the word _blight_. She had been off dithering the decades away in Vallahan while we’d dealt with the _real_ blight. Amarantha. Withering flowers was hardly a comparison, even if the naga were involved.

“There are other spots in the woods where things have died and are not coming back. I fear it’s a warning that the naga are gathering—and plan to attack.” Ianthe gesticulated her concern, and I flexed my hand under the table. If the day would come where I would never have to see her face again, it would not come soon enough.

“Ianthe, perhaps it is a case for the groundskeepers.” I held down my grin as Feyre dismissed her concern, displayed her own hard-won influence. “We’re heading out this afternoon to survey the wall, but if the problem remains when we return in a few days, I’ll help you look into it.” I nodded at Feyre’s words, realizing how thankful I was to be away from the manor for a few days.

“Will you be joining them, High Lord?” Ianthe asked Tamlin. Her eyes glanced from me to Feyre, the accusation hidden in casual curiosity, and my breakfast soured in my stomach. _Cauldron boil and fry me_. This was the last thing I needed right now.

“He will not,” Feyre said. _Shit, Feyre_ , I thought. _This is not helping_.

Tamlin cocked his head and fixed his eyes on Feyre, ignoring me. “I think I will.”

“I don’t need an escort,” she protested.

My nausea was joined by an ever-growing headache.

“Starting to doubt our good intentions, High Lord?” Jurian asked. His look was too gleeful.

“Careful,” Tamlin growled.

Feyre insisted, “I’ll be fine with Lucien and the sentries. I can defend myself, if it comes to that.”

I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was anywhere but in that room. When I opened them, I fixed my eyes solely on my cleared plate.

Ianthe, determined to have the final word, determined to assert her influence, said, “Perhaps you _should_ go, my friend. You never know when the Night Court will attempt to snatch her away.”

I growled softly as Feyre’s scent suddenly became dredged with fear.

“Have you news?” she whispered.

“There is no news,” Jurian said impatiently. “Their borders are secure. Rhysand would be a fool to push his luck by coming here.”

Damn right, he would. I had daydreamed plenty about what I would do to him for taking both my friend and my mate away from me.

“A fool, yes, but one with a vendetta,” Ianthe insisted. “Perhaps if you returned to him his family’s wings, he might … settle.”

In silence, I cursed the soundly, wishing I could voice half the things I wanted to say to her. How _dare_ she bring up that stain upon our court? I had never dared ask, never wanted to know, what history laid between Rhysand and Tamlin. I knew what Rhysand claimed—that he and Tamlin had been friends before Tamlin’s father had killed his mother and sister. Before Rhysand came with his father to get revenge, killing Tamlin’s parents.

“I burned them a long time ago,” Tamlin said, his voice somewhat hollow.

I’d seen the wings once before he’d burned them. I didn’t know the story until after they were gone. I’d assumed, until I’d heard the truth, that they were simply trophies from the war. I hadn’t know they’d belonged to a mother and daughter, innocent of wrongdoing. I had not yet been at the Spring Court when it had all happened, though the gossip after the fact had been enough to fuel Prythian for a decade. Gossip was hardly the truth, though. After I’d come to the Spring Court, a few well-placed compliments among the serving staff had been enough to uncover most of the details. I’d never really asked Tamlin about it, though he had always hated his father, cursing his memory at every chance. He missed his mother, though. In a way, this was what had brought us together, especially after I’d been expelled from home. I wasn’t an orphan, but I might as well be. I knew what it was like to lose everything in a day. So did Tamlin. That sort of bond was difficult to break.

“Too bad,” Ianthe said, clicking her tongue. “He might have paid handsomely for them.”

 _Just as I would have paid handsomely for anything of Jesminda_ , I thought. The intrusiveness of it—the sudden sympathy for _Rhysand_ , of all people—set me reeling inside.

Thankfully, Feyre steered the conversation back to where it had been—not a pleasant topic, but one far more manageable than the current fare. “I’ll be fine out there,” she said to Tamlin. “Let’s not start down this road again.”

I cringed as I was reminded of where we’d been months ago—of how easy it would be to fall into those ways again.

Tamlin, however, seemed less concerned with Feyre’s assurances and more with me. I couldn’t avoid meeting his gaze as his claws punctured his chair. “Be careful,” he said.

Our earlier conversation, and his ominous mood, had me praying to the Mother for the chance to leave the table as soon as possible.

-

 

I was thankful that the day of winnowing across the southern part of the Spring Court required almost no talking and very little thinking on my part. It was a relief to just feel lost in the magic of the winnowing. I didn’t have to think about Ianthe or Tamlin or anything at all, really, and the silence in my mind was a gift from the Mother.

Of course, it wasn’t going to last. When we reached the plot of land the representatives from Hybern wanted to scout, dark was already falling. We’d come prepared with materials to camp, and while I helped the sentries set up the perimeter, Feyre erected our tent.

When I returned, I realized there was a big problem. The tent—it was far too small.

Feyre was already inside when I looked in and realized how bad the problem was.  “Shit,”’ I muttered. We’d be right on top of each other. “Maybe I should sleep out there.”

Feyre scoffed. “Please.”

Truthfully, I wasn’t keen about sleeping outside tonight with the insects and humidity rampant, so I didn’t put up too much of a fight. But as I removed my boots, I said, “You know Tamlin can be … sensitive about things.”

“He can also be a pain in my ass,” Feyre barked, and I blinked in surprise. She seemed completely unbothered as she crawled under her covers. “If you yield to him on every bit of paranoia and territorialism, you’ll just make it worse.”

She didn’t know the half of it. I’d tried standing up to him in the past—he was my friend, but I’d be a fool not to see that he was impulsive and demanding at times. Amarantha had only made it worse. And even though Tamlin was far, far away, I couldn’t help but think of the night before. Despite the heat, I kept most of my clothes on, only unbuttoning my jacket to give myself a bit of relief. “I think it’s made worse because you two haven’t … I mean, you haven’t, right?” They had separate rooms, but that had been true last winter, too, when everyone knew they’d been sharing Feyre’s bed. It didn’t take much to guess that at least part of Tamlin’s regular moodiness was likely due to physical frustration. Now that I had the mating bond on my mind all the time, I had sympathy for him.

Feyre’s voice was tight when she said, “No. I don’t want to be touched like that—not for a while.”

Of course. I felt like an idiot for bringing it up. I had tried not to imagine what had happened to her in the Night Court—Rhysand had a reputation for cruelty, as Jurian so liked to remind me when it came to Elain. Feyre had been vague about that part of her experience, and I could hardly blame her. “I’m sorry,” I said.

She turned over to look at me, though I couldn’t make out her face, even with the enchantments on my eye. It was like the darkness was shrouding around her. “Isn’t there some way to get out of this deal with Hybern?” she asked. “I’m back, I’m safe. We could find some way around it—”

My heart clenched as I said, “No. The King of Hybern crafted his bargain with Tamlin too cleverly, too clearly. Magic bound them—magic will strike him if he does not allow Hybern into these lands.”

“In what way? Kill him?” Feyre asked.

“It will claim his own powers, maybe kill him.” I had tried to intervene, tried to negotiate on Tamlin’s behalf, but he had been so wild and desperate to get Feyre back that he had agreed to the king’s demands with little argument. If Tamlin did not allow him through the court, and if Feyre did not help them manipulate the Cauldron, Tamlin would be forced to serve Hybern, to come whenever Hybern called him—to give up his freedom, the very thing he had fought so hard to keep while Amarantha had been in power. Afterwards, Tamlin had seemed to realize what he had bargained away and had begged me to help him find the loopholes. Slowly, we had begun crafting a plan, something that would satisfy the bargain without making Tamlin a slave. It was a long shot, but it could work if we could satisfy Hybern long enough to keep them from looking too closely.

“Magic is all about balance,” I continued. “It’s why he couldn’t interfere with your bargain with Rhysand. Even the person who tries to sever the bargain faces consequences. If he’d kept you here, the magic that bound you to Rhys might have come to claim his life as payment for yours. Or the life of someone else he cared about. It’s old magic—old and strange. It’s why we avoid bargains unless it’s necessary: even the scholars at the Day Court don’t know how it works. Believe me, I’ve asked.”

“For me—you asked them for me.”

“Yes. I went last winter to inquire about breaking your bargain with Rhys.” It had been a strange visit, to say the least. The High Lord had refused to see me, refused to answer any questions despite his reputation as the Spell-Cleaver. It had confused me, since I had never had trouble with him in the past. Something must have changed Under the Mountain.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Feyre asked.

“I—we didn’t want to give you false hope. And we didn’t dare let Rhysand get wind of what we were doing, in case he found a way to interfere. To stop it.” His proximity to the Day Court made interception too great a possibility.

“So Ianthe pushed Tamlin to Hybern instead.”

“He was frantic. The scholars at the Day Court worked too slowly. I begged him for more time, but you’d already been gone for months. He wanted to act, not wait—despite that letter you sent. _Because_ of that letter you sent. I finally told him to go ahead with it after—after that day in the forest.”

I had hardly brought this up to Feyre at all, though I rarely stopped thinking about it. Even now, in the dark, it was hard not to remember what she had looked like, sounded like—what she had said.

“How bad was it?” she asked, and I knew she wasn’t talking about that night in the forest.

“You saw your room. He trashed it, the study, his bedroom. He—he killed the sentries who’d been on guard. After he got the last bit of information from them. He executed them in front of everyone in the manor.”

I could feel Feyre’s horror fill the tent. “You didn’t stop him.”

“I tried. I begged him for mercy. He didn’t listen. He _couldn’t_ listen.” I hadn’t expressed this to anyone, but that—it had been the worst day in the history of the court under Tamlin’s rule. Worse even than the day that Rhysand had come under Amarantha’s orders to round us up and drag us Under the Mountain.

“The sentries didn’t try to stop him, either?”

“They didn’t dare. Feyre, he’s a High Lord. He’s a different _breed_.” She still thought of things with her human heart, her human perception. Even now, she still didn’t understand just how Prythian worked. “We were backed into a corner with no options. None. It was either go to war with the Night Court and Hybern, or ally with Hybern, let them try to stir up trouble, and then use that alliance to our own advantage further down the road.”

“What do you mean?” Feyre’s voice was so quiet I had trouble hearing it.

I bit my tongue. This arrangement, these carefully laid plans . . . they depended on utter secrecy. And Feyre was just as bad as Tamlin when it came to being impulsive. “We have enemies in every court. Having Hybern’s alliance will make them think twice.”

Feyre let out a dissatisfied sigh. “Even if they’re now our allies, I still hate them.”

I laughed just slightly. My thoughts exactly. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys you have no idea how painful it is to write Lucien in this cycle of abuse. I can't freaking wait to get him out of the damned Spring Court.


	6. Dangerous and Deadly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien and Feyre team up against Brannagh and Dagdan, but can their alliance endure Tamlin’s wrath?
> 
> Trigger warning for domestic abuse.

 

We were awoken brusquely by Jurian, and I muttered a string of curses under my breath before ordering him out. I pushed myself up and straightened my clothes hastily when I realized how closely Feyre and I had drifted over the course of the night. I prayed that Jurian wouldn’t care enough to say anything to Tamlin—though I was sure it was a fruitless prayer.

Feyre seemed to have the same fear, because we each kept our distance from one another as the royals surveyed the wall. I once caught her cringing as she looked at me, but she didn’t answer when I asked her what was wrong.

The day was uneventful—blissfully so—until we all heard Jurian curse deep in the brush ahead. Feyre and I pushed through to find him, and my blood turned cold when I saw what stood before him, just on the other side of the hole in the wall.

Humans. The Children of the Blessed.

“Masters and Mistresses,” they chorused as they dropped to their knees. “You have found us on our journey.” My fist clenched at my side. This was far from the first time humans had passed through our border. Before Amarantha, we rarely paid them any mind and simply left them to their own fate. When Amarantha had come to power, some of my contacts in other courts had seen their potential use and had asked to be secretly notified should we come across any. Tamlin had largely wanted to stay out of it to avoid inciting any more of Amarantha’s wrath, but the terms of the curse had always wrung in his mind. So if there had ever been a woman to cross, he had insisted on meeting them, to see if there was any chance that they could be capable of killing a Fae with hatred in their hearts. But the damned fools were too enamored to even think of attempting to kill one of us, when they thought we were gods.

Eventually Tamlin had stopped bothering, and so had I—their adoration sickened me for the most part. I would only let my allies know if any passed through, but apart from that, I stayed away from them. Andras had been more interested in them, and he would tell me of their foolishness when he’d return from longer scouting trips. I knew how to deal with them. I could handle this situation, if only I could distract the Hybern royals from their very obvious, bloodthirsty delight.

“What are you doing here?” Jurian snapped.

“We have come to dwell in the immortal lands; we have come as tribute,” said the dark-haired female. I sighed through my nose. It had been a long time since I’d seen a human for more than a few moments. I’d gotten used to Feyre as Fae—I had almost forgotten how small and frail they were.

“Is this true?” Jurian’s blue eyes locked on me. Given his current alignment, I wondered why he cared. But I supposed, like Feyre, he had been human once, too. Perhaps  _some_ kind of sympathy still lingered.

“We accept no tribute from the human lands. Least of all children,” I said to him.

“Why don’t you come through, and we can … enjoy ourselves?” The princess’s voice was sickly sweet, tempting, and I tasted bile in my mouth as I realized what they had to be thinking. The look in Dagdan’s eyes as he sized up the other human female only confirmed the dreadful truth.

Feyre noticed it, too. “Get out,” she said, inserting herself between the royals and the humans. “Go back to your villages, back to your families. You cross this wall, and you will die.”

The wide, open face of the humans were devastatingly naïve. “We have come to live in peace.”

“There is no such thing here. There is only death for your kind.” I wondered if I was the only one who could hear the panic in Feyre’s voice, who knew well enough what crossing the wall as a human was like—and what had become of the other Children of the Blessed in the past decades.

“There is no death here. Only pleasure, if you are willing.” I glanced between Brannagh’s seductive look and the hard-edged urgency in Feyre’s eyes. I wondered which the humans were most likely to trust.

I was surprised when realization seemed to sink over them, awareness light their eyes. “We—perhaps have … made a mistake,” said one of them, yielding a step.

“Or perhaps this was fate.” Brannagh advanced a step with a deadly smile.

The humans were retreating now. The royals were losing their prey. Was it something Feyre had said or done?

“Come here.” Dagdan sensed the loss coming and tried to cut it off. But his imperious tone sent them running, disappearing into the trees, though their scent lingered in the air.

Brannagh looked like she wanted to give chase, but Feyre grabbed her arm. “If you pursue them, then you and I will have a problem.”

Even as Brannagh snarled, I grinned slightly, proud of Feyre for standing up to her. It was nothing less than I expected of her . . . but still.

* * *

 

Of course, her intervention couldn’t last. I was awoken early by the terrible smell of blood wafting through the trees. It didn’t smell like fae blood, but I couldn’t be sure. I had to investigate . . . but I couldn’t leave Feyre. I woke her, keeping a hand over her mouth to ensure her silence. She dressed quickly alongside me, armed and urgent, as she had picked up the scent, too. We moved easily, like a pair, as we stepped out of the tent and through the trees toward the fire. As we came closer to the source of the smell, dread worked its way through my blood, cool and slick.

It was human blood.

Feyre looked like she had fire under her heels as she realized it, and we came upon Jurian at the fire. He didn’t even look up at us as he said, “You’re too late. They finished up two hours ago.”

 _Two hours?_ And we hadn’t picked up on any of it? The efficiency was terrifying. I swore as we pushed through the thorns and trees and came upon what I’d feared we’d find. Corpses, torn and mutilated . . . the remains of a deadly sport. “They went through the wall last night. To hunt them down,” I said, horror flavoring my words. Cauldron boil me. It was clear where Amarantha had learned her preferred methods of torment.

Unbidden tears stung the corners of my eyes as Feyre laid her cloak over the largest portion of the remains she could find—the torso of the young man. I couldn’t look at his face. Instead, I crossed to where the remains of the two young women laid side by side and mimicked Feyre’s gesture. A little dignity—it was the least we could give them. How very much I had changed in the past year, to even consider dignity for a human something that I would care about.

“Do you think it was for sport, or to send us a message?” Feyre whispered from behind me.

“I think they aren’t accustomed to being denied. I’d call this an immortal temper tantrum.” I looked solemnly at Feyre and saw her close her eyes. Her skin was pallid, as though she might vomit. “You aren’t to blame. They could have killed them out in the mortal lands, but they brought them here. To make a statement about their power.”

Feyre’s knotted brow relaxed as she processed the tragedy, assessed it in a way that would make it immediately useful—easier to deal with. I had done the same thing many times. It was one of the many ways to deal with grief. “They’re threatened, and proud to a fault,” Feyre said as she fidgeted, slowly opening her eyes again. “Do we bury them?”

I wanted to say yes—to prove to Feyre that what mattered to her mattered to me, and that I would no longer be one of those Fae to laugh at human mortality. But . . . “It sends a message—that we’re willing to clean up their messes.” As much as I hated it, burying these humans might only encourage similar behavior, because the royals would consider it permission in their cruel, twisted minds.

Feyre’s voice was terrifyingly calm when she spoke next. “Then we send another sort of message.”

I raised my eyebrow. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

Feyre spoke softly and quickly—viciously. “They seem to think we’re all flowers and no thorns here. But if I recall correctly, I was warned several times against wandering into these woods alone.  _You_ even said that it would be stupid for Fae to do it.”

“I did,” I said carefully.

“Ianthe said the naga are back. What are the odds that other,  _worse_ creatures might still be lingering here? Creatures that even Hybern might not be prepared to face?”

My eye widened as I realized what she was saying. “Are you talking about the  _Bogge?_ ”

Feyre turned and looked directly at me, and shivers ran down my spine as I saw not the fair bride of spring but something far more dangerous and deadly . . . something more like what I had seen in the forest that night those months ago. But this time . . . it didn’t feel wrong. “Yes,” she said. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe,” Feyre conceded, “but I’m also going to be the Lady of this Court. And what kind of Lady would I be if I’m not capable of defending my own borderlands. They brought those humans back across the wall into  _our_ court to kill them. That gives me every right to eke out punishment.”

“That’s Tamlin’s job,” I told her.

Her eyes flashed. “Tamlin isn’t here, is he?”

I blinked. No. He was not. “You can’t get near the Bogge on your own,” I warned her. “You’re skilled Feyre. I won’t pretend you’re not. But the Bogge is nothing to play around with.”

“Don’t you dare try to stop me,” she hissed, curling her fists at her sides. I blinked as I swore I saw shadows leaking like smoky talons from her knuckles.

I tossed my hair at my shoulder and fixed both eyes on her. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said. She blinked in surprise. “I’m going with you. If we go now, we should be able to track it and lure it before the royals are done poking around for the day.”

“You’ll help me?” Feyre asked. Her surprise stung a bit.

“Of course,” I said seriously. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to punch Dagdan’s teeth in since he got here. I’d be more than happy to let the Bogge have the pleasure.”

A grin broke across Feyre’s face. “Let’s have some fun together, Lucien.”

My grin matched hers. “After you, My Lady.”

* * *

 

The satisfaction that had come from hearing Brannagh and Dagdan fight off the Bogge—and seeing them pale and furious hours later—soured as soon as we returned back to the manor. Tamlin had gotten word before we’d arrived, and he’d insisted on our presence the moment we’d set foot on the estate. We’d been ready for it—promised each other that we wouldn’t yield—but it was easier said than done. Tamlin was a coiled spring ready to snap at us, and though we both sat stiff and proud in the armchairs in his study, my heart raced like a frightened rabbit in my chest.

“They are our allies,” he growled as he stalked back and forth before the hearth.

“They’re monsters,” Feyre argued. “They butchered three innocents.”

“And you should have left it alone for me to deal with—not retaliated like children.” His eyes snapped to me, piercing me, as he said,“I expected better from you.”

“But not from me?” Feyre asked. A quiet challenged.

He glanced back to her, but his eyes did not soften. “You have a personal connection to those people. He does not.”  _Those people_. The words, the ones I would have so easily wielded in my past, sounded so wrong to my ears now.

“That’s the sort of thinking, that has allowed for a wall to be the only solution between our two peoples; for the Fae to look at these sorts of murders and not care,” Feyre argued passionately. “The loss of any life on either side is a personal connection. Or is it only High Fae lives that matter to you?”

I clamped my mouth shut as Feyre voiced my own thoughts. Tamlin growled at me, “Get out. I’ll deal with you later.”

Feyre stood to her feet, cold fire blazing in her eyes. “Don’t you talk to him like that.” I gaped at her, startled by her defense despite our agreement to stand with each other.

“You have jeopardized this alliance with that stunt you two pulled—”

“Good. They can burn in hell for all I care!” she cried, her teeth pulled back in a snarl. I flinched as she displayed her vicious edge to Tamlin.

“ _You sent the Bogge after them!_ ” Tamlin roared.

Feyre’s voice quieted but didn’t cool as she spoke through gritted teeth. “They terrorized those humans—made them suffer. I figured the Bogge was one of the few creatures that could return the favor.”

The way Tamlin and Feyre were staring each other down made me nervous. My impulse to be the buffer—and to defend Feyre as she had defended me—drove me to my feet beside her. “Tam—those humans were barely more than children. Feyre gave the royals an order to stand down. They ignored it. If we let Hybern walk all over us, we stand to lose more than their alliance. The Bogge reminded them that we aren’t without our claws, too.”

Tamlin didn’t even deign to look at me as he said, “ _Get. Out_.”

The threat there was one I could not fight, and the glance in Feyre’s eyes showed me she knew it, too. I placed as much apology into my returning gaze as possible as I left the study, closing the doors behind me. But I didn’t leave. I couldn’t leave. I knew what had happened the last time Tamlin had lost his temper with her, and I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t make the same mistake twice. So I sat at the foot of the stairs, making meaningful eye contact with the six sentries as I listened closely to my High Lord and my friend.

Most of the words were Feyre’s. I couldn’t make out all of them, but I half-rose to my feet when I heard Tamlin’s first growl. Warning bells pealed in my head and I was already striding to the door when the explosion of magic rippled through the house and pushed my backwards. But even that did not undo me so much as Feyre’s scream.

_Cauldron, no. No, no, no, no, no!_

Feyre was on the ground. Tamlin was before her, hands shaking and face pale. The study—it was wrecked, like before, like her bedroom . . .

The smell of blood wafted up my nose and I immediately shoved Tamlin aside—not  _caring_ who he was or about anything except that my friend . . . my friend was hurt and I—

“What have you done?” I gasped, reaching out to Feyre. I didn’t even look at Tamlin—I just surveyed Feyre’s pale body, the cuts and bruises across her face and arms from where furniture and magic alike had assaulted her . . .

I helped her to her feet and wrapped my arm around her. This—Tamlin had a temper, but to hurt  _Feyre?_ The one person he claimed to love above all else? If even  _she_ wasn’t safe from his temper . . . who the hell could be? “Let’s get you cleaned up,” I said softly. Alis. Alis would know exactly what to do. Though she would be pissed as all hell.

“Feyre,” Tamlin breathed from behind us. I choked down the snarl—but only for Feyre’s sake. She was shaken, badly so, and the last thing she needed was  _more_ aggression.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

 _Sorry?_ What in the Mother’s name did she have to be sorry for? Tamlin—he was the one who should be sorry.

What had become of us?

“I’m fine,” she whispered again.

I shushed her as I guided her upstairs, ill-at-ease myself. I was used to Tamlin’s volatility, had learned to work around it. But Feyre—Feyre shouldn’t have to. He shouldn’t . . . how could he hurt someone he claimed to love?

If this is what love truly looked like . . . I wasn’t sure I wanted any part of it at all.


	7. Dishonored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected attack on the manor leaves Lucien questioning matters of honor.

“Sound the alarm!” The voices shouted down the corridor and roused me from a shallow sleep. I was dressed and snatching daggers before the call could be heard a second time. I raced down the stairs and encountered Tamlin in the foyer.

“Naga,” he said through gritted teeth. I cursed in response. Tamlin shifted into his beast form and bounded out the doors. I followed right behind him, falling in with a group of sentries who were on duty. The nasty creatures were loping through the gardens, destroying property and getting ever nearer to the manor.

I almost halted in my tracks. “Feyre!” I exclaimed, looking back over my shoulder.

“We already have guards stationed there,” another sentry, Rohan, assured me. I nodded tersely and drew my sword, throwing myself into the nearest cluster of naga that were assaulting the guards. They cackled and squealed in delight as they spilled blood, and the sounds clanged through my body as I remembered hearing them Under the Mountain. My muscles stretched in tension and it took all my training to keep the panic from drawing away my martial skill.

We were a well-trained unit, and it was easy to route the naga with Tamlin leading the charge. But by the time we had stopped the threat and found the biggest of the group clinging to the keys that had disappeared from the barracks, we were all stressed and exhausted.

Tamlin raged about the lost keys—the ones he’d been informed about but hadn’t taken the time to have found again. He swore to us all that someone would pay dearly for it, and I saw the terror lighting the eyes of the remaining sentries. Despite the fact that Tamlin knew I wasn’t responsible, I couldn’t help but feel myself aligned with the sentries. I served with them, I loved them like found family . . . and I hated to see what dawn would bring. Instead of going back to my room, I returned to the barracks with the sentries, listening to their fears, watching them try and sort through what had happened. And I had been there when one of the younger sentries, Gareth, realized that the set of keys that had gone missing had been his. He slumped down in his chair, staring wide-eyed at nothing, and did not respond when the others tried to snap him out of it.

“What have I done?” he murmured. “What have I done?”

Over and over again.

I didn’t leave his side all night.

* * *

 

I returned to the manor early enough that Tamlin didn’t realize I’d spent the night in the barracks. He didn’t remark on the bags under my eyes, but I didn’t expect him to. They were more common than not these days. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten a full night’s sleep.

When ordered, I followed him and Feyre, along with Ianthe and the delegation from Hybern, out to the barracks, where the other sentries had already bound Gareth to the whipping post. He had accepted his fate—I knew he hadn’t struggled against them. But now, as he saw Tamlin prowling toward him, I saw fear light his face again.

There was little preamble as Tamlin began the proceedings. “You were entrusted with guarding this estate and its people,” Tamlin said. “You were found not only asleep at the gate last night, but it was _your_ set of keys that originally went missing. Do you deny this?”

 “I—I never fall asleep. It’s never happened until now. I must have just nodded off for a minute or two,” Gareth said. He had said as much last night, and I had asked the others if he spoke the truth. They all told me that they’d never seen him shirk his duty.

 “You jeopardized the lives of everyone in this manor.” Tamlin’s voice was cold and imperious. Bron placed the whip into his waiting hand, stonefaced.

 Beside me, Feyre gripped my hand. I couldn’t look at her—my eyes had fixed on the whip in Tamlin’s hand, and I was suddenly in another place and time. Under my shirt, the lines across my back, bestowed by Tamlin himself, back to ache as though they remembered. My throat was dried and my sleepless eyes burned.

 I was drawn out of it somewhat by Ianthe’s insipid voice. “Twenty lashes. And one more, for the Cauldron’s forgiveness.” My stomach clenched—that could very well be enough to kill him, with Tamlin’s strength. The other sentries shifted; they knew it, too.

“It was her,” Gareth suddenly said, his maple-brown eyes turning to the priestess. “She took the keys.”

I stared at Ianthe, wanting to rage—but there was not enough evidence. I could believe Gareth all I wanted to, and I knew the other sentries were likely to believe him. But Tamlin? Unlikely, especially given that she hardly batted an eye at the claim. “Why should I take the keys? I warned you of the attack.”

“You were at the barracks—I saw you that night,” Gareth said. His voice was thin and pleading, and my heart ached for him. It would be all too easy for me to believe that Ianthe had orchestrated this. I wanted to tell Gareth that he was doing well, that this would pass, but . . . I couldn’t promise that. My scars still lingered, after all.

“I would have thought one of your sentries, Tamlin, would have more dignity than to spread lies to spare himself from some fleeting pain.”

I wanted to bare my teeth at her. _Fleeting pain?_ Had she ever laid beneath the sting of a whip wielded by a High Lord? Twenty-one lashes were not _fleeting_. It would be enough to rip open his back raw and bloody. It might even bare his spine if the whip cut deep enough—and judging from Gareth’s thin frame, it was a very real possibility. I opened my mouth to demand if Ianthe knew what in the Cauldron’s name she was talking about, when Feyre said, “I will hear his story.”

I closed my eyes in silent relief, but I forced them open again before I would be unable to. Feyre released my hand and stepped forward. Some of the sentries regarded her with gratefulness. None of them wanted to see their brother-at-arms dishonored.

“With all due respect, milady, it is not your judgment to make,” Ianthe said, and Rohan cast her a glare. She was Feyre Cursebreaker, Cauldron-Blessed. She was not merely some pretty thing on Tamlin’s arm. The sentries, who had been trapped Under the Mountain with us, had not forgotten.

Feyre simply repeated, “I will hear your story.”

“You’ll take the word of a sentry over that of a High Priestess?” Ianthe blurted, showing a slight break in her composure. Looking at Rohan, Bron, and Hart, I knew it was enough for them. Enough to prove that she had framed their brother.

I reluctantly looked at Tamlin, and I saw the realization in his face, too. Would it be enough?

Feyre approached him with upturned palms. “Perhaps it was a mistake. Don’t take it from his hide—or his honor. Let’s hear him out.”

Then another voice joined the tense air of the barracks. “Pathetic,” Princess Brannagh scoffed. I could hazard a guess that in Hybern, Gareth would be dead already.

I cursed silently as I saw the resolution settle onto Tamlin’s face. He would not be proved weak in front of the royals, in front of Jurian.

“There are laws to be obeyed,” Ianthe told Feyre in a tone that could be called soothing. “Traditions. He has broken our trust, has let our blood be spilled for his carelessness. Now he seeks to accuse a High Priestess of his failings. It cannot go unpunished.” As she spoke, the decision set more firmly on Tamlin’s features. “Twenty-one lashes, High Lord.”

My heart stopped for a moment. How _dare_ she? How dare she gives orders to a High Lord of Prythian? I wanted to throw her out of this coat on her pert ass, and I could tell the other sentries felt the same.

Feyre, also, seemed appalled. “Please. Just listen to him.”

There was an awful moment of silence as her request hung in the air. But then Tamlin turned once more to Bron. “Put the bit in.”

I stiffened as I watched Bron shove the strip of leather between Gareth’s teeth. My body remembered it so keenly it was as though he was shoving it between my teeth again, like I was the one strung up between those poles. From the look in Bron’s eyes, I knew he’d be begging Gareth’s forgiveness for years to come.

I was startled when I suddenly felt Feyre back into my chest. I didn’t look at her. My eyes were fixed solely on Tamlin, lost in the horror of the past and the present. My hands rested on her arms to steady her, but it was to steady myself just as much.

Gareth’s choked cry as the first lash struck him was like a fish hook in my gut. With every lash that followed, my back burned in memory.

These were not scars that would easily fade.

* * *

 

The damage to Gareth’s back was nearly as bad as I expected. Despite the determination to endure that had lit his eyes early one, he had passed out little more than halfway through. I didn’t blame him. None of us did.

Bron’s eyes were glassy with tears of rage as he helped Hart carry Gareth back inside. Now that the grip of panic had faded, I could remember—Gareth had been Bron’s protegee when he’d first come to the estate thirty years ago. He was perhaps the youngest sentry, and he had come despite knowing that Amarantha was breathing down the court’s neck, despite knowing that he might be called to give his life across the wall. Bron had trained him personally, and now . . .

The older sentry sat in the corner, unable to be near the young male he cared for so deeply. Feyre had stayed—of course she had. She now aided the healer, who was slowly mending Gareth’s back. The healer, Asa, was good, but she wouldn’t be able to restore Gareth completely. There would still be scars, like mine.

“He’ll never be the same,” Bron said to me hoarsely. I’d brought him a quart of ale, knowing it was the least I could do. “He has worked so hard to pass through training, to make a name for himself.”

“Not one of you thinks less of him for this, do you?” I said, fixing my gaze on Bron.

“Of course not,” Bron rasped. “But he’ll think we do. Won’t matter what we say.”

I went quiet and watched Feyre and Asa work. Eventually, Asa told Feyre there was nothing more she could do. Bron stood and walked toward her before I could say anything. “Allow me, milday,” he said, offering her his arm. She nodded solemnly and accepted it. Hart joined him in escorting her back to the manor. My eyes fell on Gareth, laid out on his stomach while his cleaned back slowly healed. The fears Bron had shared with me resonated in my mind, and I stood from my stool in the corner. I wavered on my legs a little, but the wave of exhausted passed and I stalked across the room toward him.

Gareth looked up at me with bleary eyes. “Please, Lucien,” he said in a hoarse voice, “Don’t disgrace yourself with me. It was bad enough that Lady Feyre did.”

“It is no disgrace,” I said sharply. “Not a single one of your brother-at-arms blames you for what happened. They see the truth.”

“I’m not even sure I know the truth anymore,” Gareth murmured. “The only thing I know is that I am dishonored—I’ll be leaving for my father’s house as soon as I can move.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” I said. He blinked at me. “You forget that you’re not the only one Lord Tamlin has whipped.” My face was grave as I pulled off my shirt and turned around in front of Gareth, baring my ugly red scars before him. The young sentry blanched.

“That—that wasn’t the same. That was Amarantha—”

“I was not to blame for that, just as you are not to blame for this,” I insisted, turning around again. “Your honor is not determined by those in whose name you serve, but by those among whom you serve. Your brothers-at-arms, your fellow citizens—those who know you best.” I grimaced as I pulled my shirt back on. “If my honor was determined by the former, I would have never found a place in this court. I’ve been a dishonor to my family my whole life. That is not what matters. I was given a place here, a chance to prove myself and earn the trust of those around me. You have earned the trust of these sentries, Gareth. A conniving bitch of a priestess will not be able to take that away from you.”

Tears slipped from Gareth’s eyes. I wished I could comfort him, but he was still in far too much pain. “Thank you, Lucien,” he rasped.

“Bron is proud of you,” I said. “Andras would have been, too. Don’t leave—you’re sorely needed here.”

Gareth’s throat bobbed and he nodded as much as he could without jarring his back.

“Get some rest and heal as much as you can,” I instructed. “We’ll get you back on duty as soon as you’re fit.”

Gareth let out a shuddering sigh, but he was too tired to form words. I carded my fingers through his hair once, and then I left him alone to rest. Though he feared his honor lost, I knew he had earned my respect. And I wouldn’t let him forget it.


	8. Cruel and Terrible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien encounters Ianthe in the dark woods, but Feyre intervenes.
> 
> Trigger warning for sexual assault and violence.

We were to have more company on the next excursion to the wall. I couldn’t say I was pleased that both Tamlin and Ianthe would be joining us—it was hard enough to handle the Hybern royals without the added tension Tamlin and Ianthe’s presence would bring. Still, I could hardly say that I was surprised. After everything that had happened—with the naga, with Gareth—both of them, or at least Tamlin, seemed to feel the need to save face.

I wasn’t sure anything he could do at this point would be enough to restore good opinion among his sentries.

Winnowing across the court was long and tedious work, and every so often we stopped for breaks. I did my best to stay away from Ianthe as well as Tamlin and Feyre. There were far too many misunderstandings going on to risk agitating them further. The second night, I hung back with Bron, Hart, and the third sentry, Howell, sharing a flask of whiskey Howell was always known to carry on him. Howell had gone off with Hart to serve on duty monitoring the High Lord and the other important members of our party, leaving me with Bron to pass Howell’s flask back and forth.

Bron’s eyes were dark as he looked sideways toward Tamlin. I could read the disdain in his eyes and the worry in the set of his mouth.

“He’ll be fine,” I said to him, referring to Gareth back home. “The High Lord’s absence will give him an even better shot at recovery.”

Bron turned his sharp eyes to me. “And what credit is that to our Lord?” he asked. “What credit is it to him that his own sentries, those in whom he is to entrust his life, fear him so much that their well-being is threatened by his very presence?”

The whiskey soured in my mouth. Bron had a point. I had an obligation, however, and I had to be careful of what I could and could not say. There were too many listening ears to risk being overheard saying something treasonous. Not that I would commit treason anyway. Not against Tamlin. “The High Lord has a lot to deal with right now—”

“So has every High Lord throughout history,” Bron interrupted. He clenched his jaw, struggling just as much as I to express himself when words were so dangerous. “He’s hurt Lady Feyre, too,” he said in a low voice. “She, out of all of us, deserves that least.”

I stiffened and ran my hand through my hair. Of course he was right, and I . . . I had again done nothing in the aftermath of Tamlin’s outburst. She still hadn’t healed entirely, which seemed strange, and though Tamlin had been obsequious in his attentions toward her ever since, I still should have done something, talked to her. But talking to her would have only incited Tamlin’s ire again. I was damned if I did, damned if I didn’t. Perhaps when this was all over I could ask for her forgiveness.

I’d had a consistent headache from lack of sleep, and the whiskey wasn’t helping it. I said to Born. “You’re right. I don’t know what to do about it, but you’re right. Perhaps by the Mother’s grace he’ll get it all sorted out soon.”

I stood and turned to head into the woods for some quiet and to relieve myself. As I moved past Bron, I heard him mutter, “He’d better.”

The words struck me deep.

The woods were cool and dark, a nice change from the humid weather that came with the sun. I relieved myself and turned to lean against a different large oak tree whose branches stretched over the clearing like a canopy. I could glimpse the stars through them. It was the first time I’d been properly alone in a long time, and I savored the quiet, knowing it would end soon.

As they often did, my thoughts drifted to Elain as I looked at the stars. I was not afraid as I thought of her, for a change. Instead, I was simply . . . mournful, knowing that she would never take me if she could see how I’d failed her sister again and again. The mating bond within me ached in sorrow. All I wished for was one chance to see her, to bare my soul before her, and let her judge me. Even though I was certain that she would reject me, I wanted to hear it from her lips, so that I could well and truly damn myself and end this constant pain of wondering.

“The moon is lovely tonight,” said a voice like chimes from nearby.

I straightened and turned to see Ianthe standing nearby, her blue eyes appraising me in that way of hers. I had done everything in my power to avoid her attentions in the past several weeks, but it seemed she did not consider our game over. Not that it was a game I’d ever agreed to play. “Shouldn’t you be off saying your prayers?” I asked dismissively, turning my face away from her.

“I’ve finished them,” Ianthe said lightly, stepping closer, “and Lucien, I think you would be most interested in the things the Mother told me while I knelt before her.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, holding back the volley of harsh words I wanted to throw her way. “When have I ever been interested in that?”

Ianthe clicked her tongue and took yet another step closer. “She gave me a message for _you_ , Lucien. I know how badly you’ve been plagued by your mating bond. It pains me to see you in such a state. But the Mother . . . she said that it is not against her wishes that you seek love elsewhere, if the world keeps you divided from your mate.”

I whipped my head around to face her and saw her barely an arm’s length from me. “I warned you never to speak of her,” I snarled.

“It is not I, but the Mother,” Ianthe insisted. She wore the mask of a dove over a serpent’s fangs, and if I were not so exhausted—and perhaps a little drunk—I would have winnowed away from her in an instant. “Time can often interfere with such matters. You and I . . . we knew each other before dear Elain ever came to Prythian.”

Hearing my mate’s name on her lips was too much. Despite the fact that it was ungentlemanly, I raised my hands to push Ianthe away from me. “Do _not_ say her name—”

My wrist fell to my side with a heavy thud, and then were dragged back to be pinned to the tree. “What the _fuck_ —” I hissed, looking down to see the blue stone chains that held me to the trunk of the tree by my wrists. Whatever thin connection I’d still held to my magic drained away, and I . . . I was powerless before her.

Hybern. These stones had come from Hybern.

This _bitch_.

Ianthe prowled closer. Far too close. “Back off,” I growled. My stomach turned—I knew where this was going.

Ianthe laughed her seductress’s laugh. “I thought you’d seek me out after the Rite.”

“I was obligated to perform the Rite. That night wasn’t the product of desire, believe me,” I said, my words bearing a hard edge. I had blocked out most of the night from my mind: my grim determination, plenty of alcohol, Ianthe’s sober and troubling enthusiasm. I could only thank the Mother that I did not yet know my mate. It had already been bad enough.

“We had fun, you and I,” Ianthe said, tracing her fingers up and down my cheek. Is _that_ what she called it? _Fun_ was at the bottom of a long list of words I would use to describe that night.

“I’m a mated male now,” I reminded her. Not that it seemed to matter to her.

“You don’t act that way with Feyre.”

Panic shot along my veins. “You’re mistaken.”

Ianthe paced back and forth before me, secure in her method of binding me. “Am I? You put your hands all over her.” Even as she gloated, I was thinking of ways to get out of this situation. I didn’t want to hurt Ianthe, but only because there would be fallout with Tamlin. Yet it seemed it might be my only option. If she got close enough, I could take her out at the legs . . . maybe headbutt her. There had to be something. Just because I didn’t have my magic didn’t make me useless.

While I was distracted, Ianthe’s fingers had begun tracing the skin at my collarbone. “Do not touch me,” I growled.

Ianthe’s touch became bolder, skating over my chest, my stomach. I was too sickened to even feel remotely aroused—at least my body could do me that favor. But it could not stop me from flushing red with shame when I spotted Feyre standing at the tree line.

I had never felt so small in my life.

“That’s enough,” Feyre said, drawing Ianthe’s attention to her.

“We were in the middle of a game. Weren’t we, Lucien?”

I couldn’t say anything that wouldn’t shame me further. Either I was playing games with Ianthe, Feyre’s enemy, or I had let myself been caught unawares, weak. Neither was good for me.

“We’ll return to the camp when we’re done,” Ianthe said, and her fingers dropped even lower to undo the first button on my pants . . . and then her face went entirely slack, her blue eyes glassy.

“Take your hands off him,” Feyre commanded.

Ianthe, to my utter shock, obeyed.

“Unshackle him.” The stones dropped away from my wrists and the line to my magic awakened again . . . though I was too petrified to use it. What . . . what on earth was happening?

“Pick up that rock,” Feyre said to Ianthe. The priestess picked up a stone about the size of an apple, her face still blank. “Put your right hand on that boulder.” The priestess trembled, but obeyed. “Smash your hand with the rock as hard as you can until I tell you to stop.”

I thought for sure I was going to vomit as Ianthe smashed her own hand again and again, until it was broken and bloody. All the while, Feyre spoke to her in a voice that was cold and imperious and unlike anything I’d ever heard from her. “You will never touch another person against their will. You will never convince yourself that they truly want your advances; that they’re playing games. You will never know another’s touch unless they initiate, unless it’s desired by both sides. You will not remember what happened here. You will tell the others that you fell. You are allowed to see a healer to set the bones. But not to erase the scarring. And every time you look at that hand, you are going to remember that touching people against their will has consequences, and if you do it again, everything you are will cease to exist. You will live with that terror every day, and never know where it originates. Only the fear of something chasing you, hunting you, waiting for you the instant you let your guard down.”

Ianthe’s hand was entirely mangled, and tears of pain streamed down her face as Feyre spoke.

“You can stop now. Kneel here until someone finds you.”

Ianthe dropped the rock and did as she was bid. Her robes and her face were both bloodstained, her wrecked hand almost unrecognizable.

“I debated slitting your throat this morning,” Feyre said, her voice as chilled as the Winter Court. “I debated it all last night while you slept beside me. I’ve debated it every single day since I learned you sold out my sisters to Hybern.” A tremble ran up my spine as I realized that this was retribution not just for me, but for her sisters, and for Gareth, and for everyone whom Ianthe had hurt. Where had Feyre learned such viciousness?

There was only one answer.

Feyre continued, “But I think this is a better punishment. And I hope you live a long, long life, Ianthe, and never know a moment’s peace.”

Feyre finally looked away from Ianthe and up at me, and I saw that her own mask had fallen away to reveal something cruel and terrible . . . something like what I’d seen in the woods that day. But what she’d done . . .

“The word you’re looking for, Lucien,” said a wickedly entertained voice from behind me, “is daemati.”

And as I turned to see the prince and princess of Hybern approaching us through the clearing, I prepared for death.


	9. No Allegiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Torn from all he's staked himself upon, Lucien comes to a crossroads and must make a difficult choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Chapter 10 of ACOWAR, and the end of this fic. Due to time contraints and real-life commitments, I'll be unable to extend this fic as far as I originally planned to. :( However, I hope I've come to a good stopping point for now. Perhaps one day there will be a Part 2, but I can make no promises for now. 
> 
> This fic also marks my 500,000 words of fanfiction. Thank you all so much for all your support. <3 It means more than you know. 
> 
> Trigger warning in this chapter for violence.

“Going somewhere, Feyre?” Princess Brannagh asked as she ran her hand over Ianthe’s hair—though she made no move to offer the priestess any aid. Something in Feyre’s eyes flickered. There was a slight change in her posture, and the shadows around her seemed to _bend_. She met Brannagh’s eyes with a defiant set to her jaw.

“I have places to be,” she said, her eyes darting between the prince and princess.

“What could be more important than assisting us? You are, after all, sworn to assist our king.” My shoulders tensed at the reminder of the bargain we had yet to settle.

I noticed the way that they were circling her like wolves, establishing attack positions with arrogant ease. I pushed off the tree, watching them both. A finger of moonlight crossed Feyre, and that was when I noticed Tamlin’s bandolier slung across her body. Stolen—stolen from Tamlin. And there was a pack on her shoulders, as though . . . as though she was fleeing.

Cauldron boil me. I’d been blind—fooled—the whole time. She’d never had any intention to stay.

Feyre sneered at Brannagh. “I have no allegiance to you. I am a free person, allowed to go where and when I will it.” And she would. I had no doubt of that now.

Had she been planning to leave us—leave _me_ —all along?

“Are you? Such careful plotting these weeks, such skilled maneuvering. You didn’t seem to worry that we’d be doing the same.” Brannagh’s fingers wrapped around the hilt of her sword, and she cast one deadly glance toward me. Understanding boiled in my stomach. I was collateral now—I would die tonight, now that I knew of their treachery.

This . . . this wasn’t exactly how I’d planned to go. But resignation settled over my shoulders like a heavy cape. I knew was I living on borrowed time—I had been ever since I’d escaped from Autumn Court so long ago. I’d put up a fight now. I had enough dignity left to do that much. But I knew I wouldn’t win, not against Hybern-trained commanders.

“Take the Spring Court,” Feyre said callously. “It’s going to fall one way or another.”

I snarled at the words, eyes flicking to her. I expected treachery from Hybern, but from _Feyre?_ My friend? I shouldn’t be surprised. I shouldn’t be, after all these years of experience. But I had hoped she would be different.

Brannagh at last revealed her sword. “Oh, we intend to. But then there’s the matter of you.” She grinned wickedly. “Haven’t you wondered at the headaches? How things seem a little muffled on certain mental bonds?”

 _Mental bonds_. She didn’t mean—

Dagdan, who had until now been silent, said, “I’d give her about ten minutes before the apple sets in.”

Brannagh looked practically gleeful as she explained to Feyre’s puzzled expression, “We gave the priestess the powder at first. Crushed faebane stone, ground so fine you couldn’t see or scent or taste it in your food. She’d add a little at a time, nothing suspicious—not too much, lest it stifle all your powers at once.”

I glanced to Ianthe’s still frozen, broken form kneeling on the ground. Suddenly I found myself wishing I could crush her other hand, too.

“We’ve been daemati for a thousand years, girl, but we didn’t even need to slip into her mind to get her to do our bidding. But you … what a valiant effort you put up, trying to shield them all from us.”

 _What?_ Feyre had defended us from Hybern? Why would she do that, if she’d wanted us to fall? My mind was torn between trying to figure it out and focusing on the royals’ next moves.

“What _apple_?” Feyre demanded.

“The one you shoved down your throat an hour ago,” Brannagh explained. “Grown and tended in the king’s personal garden, fed a steady diet of water laced with faebane. Enough to knock out your powers for a few days straight, no shackles required. And here you are, thinking no one had noticed you planned to vanish today. Our uncle would be most displeased if we allowed that to happen.”

I swore under my breath, too softly for anyone to hear. These two villains would happily kill me, but they’d drag Feyre back to be a slave to Hybern. I didn’t mind dying, not anymore, but . . . how could I leave Feyre? Even if she _had_ betrayed us, I still had to assume there was an explanation. And becoming a slave to Hybern would be worse than death. I’d seen plenty of Amarantha to know. Whatever Feyre had done, she had also been a friend to me at one time. She had saved me once, more than once. I could at least fight for her now, even if it would be the last time I ever would.

I looked to her and saw her staring at me, as though she was making the same decision about me.

“Go,” I told her.

I expected her to run. I truly did. When instead she winnowed across the clearing and sliced Dagdan across the abdomen, engaging him in a battle so swift and brutal it seemed like shadows themselves were at war, I could only stare in shock and awe. How Feyre had learned to fight like this, I had no idea, but somehow, she was matching Dagdan blow-for-blow. My enchanted eye fixed on the fight, keeping track of the movements better than my natural eye could. But even I reeled when the darkness of the night was interrupted by a wave of blazing fire that washed over Brannagh, who screamed in pain and surprise.

The lull in the fighting was brief as the flame cleared, as Dagdan realized what had happened. “You little bitch!” he snarled before lunging at Feyre.

She defended his blade, but he was angry now, and I could see her set her jaw as the power of his blow rocked her. She was focused on deflecting him. When Brannagh, burned and raging, rose to strike her while she was distracted, my opportunity came. I wouldn’t stand on the sidelines as Feyre was hurt again. No matter what she had done.

I winnowed and raised my sword. I didn’t plan anything other than hitting as hard as I could, interrupting her trajectory. But the Mother blessed the timing. My sword arched through the air and Brannagh surged upward, and when my sword came down, the nape of Brannagh’s neck was perfectly in line with the blade.

My sword kept moving. Brannagh did not.

I stumbled as my blade went clean through her, not expecting my momentum to go uninterrupted. As my body fell forward, I saw Dagdan appear before me, roaring, his blade poised to return the favor to _my_ throat.

A clang and a scrape sounded in my ears, and I said a silent prayer to the Mother that Elain might one day know how sorry I was. At least she’d be free now.

I felt hot blood splash across my face, but as I drew in a gasping breath, I realized the blood wasn’t mine. I opened my eyes and saw Feyre standing between me and Dagdan, her knife shoved straight through his eye.

The prince fell to the ground, and the only sound that broke the silence was the heavy gasping coming from both Feyre and me. She stepped away from me, looking with cold fury on the two royals heaped on top of each other. She wetted her lips and turned to Ianthe, who had been forced to watch the whole thing.

Feyre’s whole body shook, but her voice remained even as she said, “You tell them I killed them. In self-defense. After they hurt me so badly while you and Tamlin did nothing. Even when they torture you for the truth, you say that I fled after I killed them—to save this court from their horrors.”

Ianthe, of course, said nothing. But I managed to find my voice. “Feyre,” I said, hoarse from exertion and horror.

She ignored me, simply wiping her blades and gathering her pack.

“You’re going back. To the Night Court.” I’d had suspicions the whole time, but I’d always hoped . . . hoped that I’d been wrong. But it explained so much: why she had never seemed to properly fear for her sisters, why she never seemed to remember anything critical about her time there, why she had occasionally revealed a darker edge that she hadn’t had before she’d left. She had never truly come home to us, and none of us had seen it.

She looked at me, and her face was still cold. As though we were strangers. Maybe we were. “Yes.”

I couldn’t say what came over me, but as I looked at the dead royals, thought of Tamlin returning and finding her gone, thought of what my options were, I said, “I’m going with you.”

“No.” Her answer was short, and she was already walking away from me.

My lips curled back from my teeth as I set off after her. She had left us before, and I had failed to get her back. I wasn’t going to let that happen again. And I could not return, not if what she said about the Spring Court was true. It was falling—had fallen. My earlier conversation with Bron was enough to prove her words. Besides, I could see her trembling, see how heavy her steps were. She had a long journey ahead, and if what Dagdan and Brannagh had said about poisoning her—poisoning _us_ —had been true, she wouldn’t make it on her own.

 “You won’t make it without magic,” I said as I followed her. I grabbed her arm, halting her in her tracks. “I’m going with you. I’m getting my mate back.” I hadn’t let that part of this decision settle within me until now, but I realized that this could be my only chance to ever see Elain. I couldn’t let it pass me by.

Feyre looked me up and down evaluating whether I’d be a help or a hindrance. There was no trace of friendship in her eyes. “Don’t make me regret this,” she said. She wrenched her arm free and set off into the woods, turning her back on her first home in Prythian . . . on the wreckage she was leaving behind.

 

-

 

The following hours were torment, winnowing across the court when I was both sleep-deprived, and, evidently, magic-deprived. When we stopped to rest, Feyre looked as pale and drawn as I was. I hunched over, bracing my hands on my knees as my whole body quivered. I felt like I needed to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to vomit up. “It’s—gone. My magic—not an ember. They must have dosed all of us today.” The bastards. We had a long way to travel, and who knew how long this poison would last? Feyre swayed as she stepped forward and I gripped her arm to steady her. “You’re taking a door?” She hadn’t said so, but it was the only explanation.

“Yes.”

She’d thought through all of this. My mind conjured thoughts of her sitting in her room at night, plotting our demise, her escape . . . I shook my head. It was not the time to dwell on that. I took in our surroundings. “The Autumn Court portal is that way.” She couldn’t be planning to walk through my father’s territory, not when a single glimpse of me could have us both dragged to his dungeons to trade to Tamlin whenever he felt like it.

“I can’t go into Summer. They’ll kill me on sight.” Feyre swallowed, and I remembered distantly hearing from a Summer Court envoy that the Night Court had blood rubies counted against them. I hadn’t known one of them now belonged to Feyre. The small part of me that enjoyed mischief wanted to hear that story, but still . . . not now.

“The only other door here leads Under the Mountain. We sealed off all the other entrances. If we go there, we could wind up trapped—or have to return.” I was sure that she was just as reluctant to return Under the Mountain as I was.

“Then we go to Autumn. And from there . . .” The look in her eyes was wistful, almost . . . longing. I knew the word that lingered under her tongue, the word that she wouldn’t pronounced, not in front of me. _Home_.

What had we done? I knew we had let her down, but what could Rhysand have offered her that could in the least compare to the safety and comfort we’d worked so hard to provide for her? I supposed I’d have to find out.

She nodded at me as though to confirm that she would explain, or I would see later . . . but not now. We had more pressing concerns at the moment. Like survival. Escape.

“The Autumn Court will be as dangerous as Summer,” I warned her. My father was opportunistic, and Tamlin and I had been unable to gauge his allegiances now that Hybern was active again. For all I knew, he had people stationed on the other side to snatch us up the moment we stepped through.

Feyre’s mouth tightened, strained. “I just need somewhere to hide—to lie low until . . . until we can winnow again.”

I nodded. This would be a very, very long journey on foot. At least two weeks, if we traveled all day every day. It would take far less time to winnow. “I know a place,” I said. We wouldn’t be able to stay there for long, if it was even available as shelter at all, but it was something.

 When we arrived at the cave, I noticed the distinct lack of guards. I’d already prepared an explanation in the event we’d meet some of my more distant colleagues here, but . . . they were nowhere in sight. I glanced at Feyre and she nodded. She’d done this.

I only hoped she hadn’t hurt them.

We paused before the dark opening of the cave and I paused, steeling myself.

“Stay, if you want,” Feyre offered. “What’s done is done.”

The coldness there, the utter lack of feeling . . . it felt like a knife sliding between my ribs and twisting. And just then, I hated her. “You were right. That girl I knew did die Under the Mountain.”

She only nodded, not the least bit ashamed despite my pointed words. “At least we can agree on that.”

We walked into the beckoning dark, and I considered all that had led me to this point in time. I had fled my court after the death of my love, and found a friend in a foreign court. And now, I was returning to my native court with a friend who might in fact be my enemy. In leaving Tamlin, perhaps _I_ was my own enemy. Nothing was as it had once seemed, and not even my enchanted eye was enough to make things clear. I was low on hope, low on faith . . . but I did as I had always done in the face of treachery and madness. I moved forward, one step at a time.

Courts would rise and fall, I thought. But maybe I could still stand among the rubble.


End file.
